


Original

by shyash



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 16-Year-Old Harry, 18-Year-Old Louis, Alternate Universe, Coming Out, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, High School, M/M, Masturbation, Tall Harry, americanized, but they should because there's lots of playlist mentioning, can't help it, harry plays basketball, i know louis doing musical theater is so unoriginal, i swear spotify does not sponsor this fic, internalized homophobia i guess, louis does musicals, sweaty boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyash/pseuds/shyash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a basketball star for his high school team. Louis is smart, does drama, is generally well-liked but mostly unknown. Louis is great at soccer, but doesn’t play for his school because he’s afraid of being gay around the locker room. Only his best friends Niall, Stan and Perrie know about his sexuality.<br/>Of course Louis knows who Harry is – he’s gorgeous, beloved, and popular. However, he’s usually too wrapped up with attending basketball practices and games to notice guys like Louis, even though Louis is a senior and Harry is a sophomore. Louis never really bothered to care much about Harry – he has his own senior year performance and university looming to worry about – until he gets a spot after school in the weight room that saves his neck. Literally.</p>
<p>Or, Louis falls for sweaty basketball Harry and sweaty basketball Harry turns out to be a precious dork obsessed with music.</p>
<p>I'm terrible at tagging and summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feeling This

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that my summary and tags miserably fail. This story *will get* explicit, and I can't wait until it does.
> 
> One trigger warning for the whole work: (I guess) internalized homophobia. Not sure if it qualifies for that, but just in case.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic. It's my first. Please comment and tell me what you think!

It’s burger day today in the cafeteria. Louis and his best mate Niall had seen so on the lunch calendar yesterday when they lined up for their food, and had shouted their excitement right there in front of everybody. Rather obnoxiously really. Come on, it’s just food, right? But not these burgers. The head lunch ladies, Theresa and Mary, make the _best_ fucking burgers private school can buy: juicy, salty, and greasy.

 

So, although Louis’ history class is simply _dragging_ on, and Mr. Montgomery is somehow outdoing himself in his role as most pointless teacher ever, he lets his eyelids drift shut and he daydreams about burgers. His cheekbone rests on the heel of his hand propping up his head, the eraser of his pencil pressed into his soft bottom lip. He even starts to drool a little before his grumbling stomach cuts off the brief food fantasy.

 

He peeks an eye open lazily to check if the clock has somehow moved 5 minutes in the last 5 seconds. No such luck.

 

Grimacing, he shoots a glance over to his other best friend, Perrie, seated at the desk beside his. Her eyes are rather comically glazed over as they’re trained on Mr. Montgomery. Louis nudges her leg with the toe of his Converse, and she rolls her eyes in his direction. They silently commiserate this way.

 

“Lewis, were you sleeping in my class?” Mr. Montgomery charges the senior boy. The tall, bald teacher has turned around from writing notes on the white board to peer suspiciously over his glasses at Louis.

 

He fucking hates when teachers call him Lewis. “No, Mr. Monty,” Louis responds before he can stop himself. The nickname all the students have for the teacher accidentally falls out of his mouth. So what? Louis has gone to Lafayette High School for _four goddamn years_ now and people are still fucking his name up.

 

Mr. Montgomery merely frowns in disapproval and continues with his mind-numbing lecture. It’s not that Louis doesn’t like history – he actually really does. It’s helped him in a lot of his performances for school plays. And just generally, he’s always loved a period film or a historical TV show. The problem is that Mr. Montgomery makes the material seem completely irrelevant.

 

Eventually – hours, maybe years later – the bell rings, and Louis jumps out of his seat, quickly gathering up his textbook, chewed up pencil, and rather scant notes.

 

“Thank God. I’m starving,” he complains to Perrie.

 

“Well, hurry up before there’s a huge line,” she whines back.

 

On their way to the cafeteria, they meet Niall who has just left Chemistry with a group of other juniors.

 

“Blew some shit up today,” he grins to them proudly, bouncing his way over to them with blue eyes flashing. Louis loves slash hates how endlessly bubbly Niall is. I mean, honestly, who the hell is this happy when they’re at school? But, like it or not, his grin is infectious.

 

“Sick, man,” Louis offers appreciatively.

 

Once they’ve paid for their much anticipated lunches and are seated at a table to themselves in the back corner of the cafeteria, Louis can finally manage to perk up. Actually, he looks a little bit like a kid given the keys to a theme park. Honestly, it’s just food.

 

Except, with only a little coaxing (because he is beloved among the kitchen staff at Lafayette), Louis had managed to convince Theresa to give him a triple cheeseburger _with_ bacon, so long as he promised not to let whatever teacher was on cafeteria duty that hour see him with it.

 

Now with his own personal cardiac arrest to chow down, Louis can momentarily forget he’s at stupid high school and be the naturally funny and vivacious lad that he is. The trio joke around, lightheartedly complain about schoolwork, and laugh obnoxiously when Niall relates his adventures in Chemistry. Seriously, the guy is too much of a live wire to be allowed around flames, propane, and chemicals. The blond boy’s booming laugh sounds through the cafeteria repeatedly, and Louis’ eyes crinkle with mirth as he takes down his ridiculous burger. Perrie lovingly makes fun of the two of them.

 

Popping another Skittle into her mouth, Perrie asks Louis when his audition for the role of Danny Zuko is.

 

“What is today?” Louis asks.

 

“Tuesday, idiot.”

 

“Audition’s Thursday. Right after school at 3:00.”

 

“Why did you need to know what day it is today if you knew the audition’s on Thursday?” Niall asks, still chuckling from before.

 

“Shut up, Nialler, I don’t know. You’re lucky if you even know the days of the week.”

 

“Ohhhhhh,” Niall taunts Louis’ lame attempt at an insult.

 

“Are you ready for it?” Perrie questions Louis, ignoring the boys’ exchange.

 

“I think so,” Louis responds, and after a pause, “I hope so. I really, really want this one. Senior year and all.”

 

“You’ll get it. Don’t worry,” Perrie consoles him. She’s not one to blow smoke up Louis’ ass, so he’s appreciative of this small gesture of support.

 

“Yeah, man, you’ll totally get it. Plus, you look just like Danny Zuko. Especially with all that shit you’ve been putting in your hair,” Niall teases.

 

Louis clasps onto what remains of his triple bacon cheeseburger in one hand as he swings a rather hard punch at Niall’s arm with the other.

 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles around the food in his mouth as Niall fake groans in pain. Okay, so Louis had done his hair Zuko-style one evening last week, just to see how it would look on him, and maybe he actually liked it, and maybe he wanted to make that his everyday thing. With his hair swept away from his face, you could really see the definition of his cheekbones and the considerable length his lashes. The look gave him a boost of confidence, like he had a little more swagger than a closeted gay, not very well-known, drama-loving high school senior typically feels. With the sleeves on his black t shirt rolled up, he may or may not have made smirking bad boy faces into his mirror, wiggling his eyebrows devilishly. But he definitely _did not_ sing “Grease Lightning” into his sisters’ hair brush. Definitely not…

 

“Only joking,” Niall appeases. He knows how sensitive his friend can be about his looks sometimes. “Hey, you wanna kick around later?”

 

Louis chews on inside corner of his lip. He needs to practice his audition some more – there are a few spots of “Hey There Delilah” that he needs to iron out. And there’s that blog on the upcoming school art show that he needs to finish. Still, playing a little soccer sounds like a much needed stress reliever.

 

“Sure. After school?”

 

“After detention. I’m in until 4.”

 

“What did you do now?” Perrie playfully scoffs at Niall.

 

“Well, we weren’t _supposed_ to be blowing stuff up in Chemistry today. That was just me livening things up.”

 

The other two chuckle knowingly.

 

\--

 

Once the bell rings for the end of the school day, Louis and the other 300 odd students at Lafayette breathe sighs of relief. Stuffing some books and papers back into his locker and removing others to shove into his backpack, Louis gets an idea for how to kill time while he waits for Niall’s detention to end. He feels pretty shitty about himself since eating that gigantic burger, as fantastic as it was. It’s just that if he wants this role in the musical – or if he ever wants to get a cute boyfriend in college (because Louis has given up on this ever happening during high school) – he needs his body to look good. He thinks he looks okay now. Maybe he’s a little on the slender side. But hours of gay internet porn have taught him that some muscle can be really, really sexy. He just has no idea what out and proud gay men are looking for, much less ones at university with actual sexual experience. But more than that, he wants to do it for himself. Danny Zuko is a fit stud, and Louis will follow his example.

 

Grabbing his balled up P.E. clothes off the top shelf of his locker, Louis swings his backpack onto his shoulders and heads toward the gym.

 

Lafayette is well-regarded for its athletics, despite being a tiny private school. Really, it makes no sense that the basketball, volleyball, and soccer teams consistently draw athletic talent each year from classes of only about 75 girls and boys, each. As the trophies and banners boast, however, the school is the winningest among its local competition. The donors to Lafayette – many of them former high school sports stars themselves – have made it a point to fund the school’s state of the art gym, new soccer field, and well-equipped weight room for training.

 

Striding past the few students who remain in the hallways for whatever after school club or event they sticking around for, Louis makes his way to the weight room, hoping that none of the fall sports teams are using it today.

 

He can see through its glass walls that the weight room (located just off the gym, down a little corridor) is thankfully empty, so he quickly changes in the men’s bathroom in the gym lobby. Louis is sure the basketball team will be occupying the men’s locker room soon and he doesn’t want to chance a run-in with any of them. It’s not that he’s afraid of being around half naked guys. No one besides Niall, Perrie, and Stan knows that he’s gay, but being gay doesn’t make him want to leap on whatever dick is nearest to him. He just doesn’t see the point of broaching the issue. Plus he’s a drama kid, and they’re all jocks. Despite the fact that he easily could have been starting varsity for the soccer team the last 4 years, only Niall and his buddies from grade school know of his athletic abilities. No, he’s just a drama geek to most of the 300. And although he sort of aches to be on the field against real competition, it’s better this way.

 

Louis realizes belatedly that his training shoes are in the trunk of his car, along with his soccer boots. Whatever, he’ll just work out in his Chucks. It’s not like anyone is here to see him. He removes his phone and headphones from the side pocket of his backpack before chucking it into the corner of the weight room. Thankfully, the facilities at Lafayette are kind of always open to anyone. The school is pretty liberal with its treatment of students, which Louis has always appreciated, despite his obligatory teenage dislike of education.

 

Popping in his ear buds and selecting Blink-182 on shuffle, Louis sets to work. He doesn’t weight train often, much preferring his exercise to be centered on a sport rather than the mindless lifting of heavy things, so his station choices are random.

 

By about 3:20, he’s worked up a little sweat on his back and forehead. His gray t shirt is starting to stick to shoulders. It feels good for Louis to be using his muscles purposefully. With each bend of the knee or elbow, the tightness stretching through his limbs and the slight burn beneath his flesh grows more satisfying.

 

He plops himself down at the bench press, having loaded the bar up to the desired weight. The music humming across his ear drums allows him to focus on the movements of his body and create a rhythm there.

 

Louis may have put too much weight on the bar considering how long it’s been since he last properly bench pressed, but he knows he’s handled more in the past. The voice in his ears urges him on.

 

_I got no regret right now._ Louis lowers the bar down just above his chest, balancing it carefully, before pumping it back up until his elbows lock. He pushes out a few more reps, working deliberately.

 

_Fuck it, it’s such a blur._ He starts to feel that tingling of protest in the muscles of his chest, shoulders, and arms. His hands are sweaty on the bar where he forgot to chalk them.

 

_Our breathing has got too loud._ Louis is controlling his breathing, breathing out each time he lowers and raises the weight, breathing in when he is at rest. After 13 reps, his elbows are starting to shake. _Just get to 20_ , he motivates himself.

 

_We’re taking this way too slow._ He tries to pick up the pace for the last 7 reps, just wanting to reach his goal. He’s determined to hit 20, which would be really impressive given that he hasn’t lifted in so long.

 

Between reps 17 and 18, though, something goes disastrously wrong. Louis’ sweaty hands are making the bar almost impossible to hold. As he bends his elbows to lower the bar toward his chest, they shake, and the bar slips down to the heels of his palms. He’s panicking, his entire body tense. What the fuck was he thinking, coming in here without anyone to spot him?

 

The strain in his neck and shoulders is rapidly becoming unbearable as he fights to keep the bar from crushing his throat. The dampness of his hands, the weight held aloft that presses through his arms down into his tendons and sinews – it’s too much. Louis’ eyes are screwed shut with the effort it takes to keep the bar from dropping onto his neck. His arms shake. The bar is rolling out of his grip…

 

Suddenly, the weight is lifted. A shadow is cast over Louis’ head. He exhales sharply, just now realizing that he’d been desperately holding his breath. His chest heaves up and down while he hears someone shuffle behind him, and the bar clangs back into its hold. He rips the headphones out of his ears when he realizes the person is talking to him.

 

“…okay, man? Did you hear me?”

 

Louis cranes his neck backwards from where he’s lying on the bench press and squints up at his rescuer.

 

It’s fucking Harry Styles.


	2. Feeling Funny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have 11 chapters done already so I'm just going to post them all today!

“I asked if you’re okay? Why’d you think it was a good idea to take on all this weight on your own? Coach never lets us in here without a spotter,” he frowns. Harry Styles is chiding Louis on his poor weight-lifting protocol. 16-year-old sophomore basketball champion heart throb, Harry Styles, just saved Louis from dropping 180 pounds on his wind pipe.

 

“Thanks, man. Shit,” Louis sort of chokes out. This is the last kind of person he wanted to see in here. Guys like Harry – guys who want to be like Harry – don’t exactly mesh with guys like Louis.

 

Harry continues to frown down at Louis, who becomes more and more embarrassed under the scrutiny. He feels stupid, weak, and mostly stupid. Louis sits up, leaning forward and resting his elbows lightly on the tops of his thighs. He can feel soreness setting into his tissues.

 

“Thanks,” he breathes again, brushing his fringe away from his eyes and looking over at Harry. “Owe you one.”

 

“Yeah, no problem. Lucky I came in here to work out before practice,” Harry looks back and forth between Louis’ eyes, and relaxes his frown.

 

“I’ve never seen you in here before,” he prompts.

 

“Yeah, I don’t normally work out in here. Or anywhere, really.”

 

A grin breaks across Harry’s face. “I can tell.”

 

Great, now the bastard is going to ridicule him. Just like some cocky basketball jock.

 

“‘Cause of your shoes,” Harry continues, still smiling.

 

What? Oh. Louis looks down, remembering he’s in Chucks.

 

He huffs out a laugh he doesn’t really feel. “Yeah, I forgot my training shoes in my car.” He rubs his right thumb along the lines of his opposite palm in a gesture of discomfort.

 

Harry has an incredible smile, he notices as he looks back up. Full pink lips spread wide around perfect white teeth. He even has dimples, for Christ’s sake. Perfect dimples.

 

Louis has noticed Harry Styles before, okay. It was kind of hard not to. Since his arrival at Lafayette a year ago, Harry has been the school’s most gorgeous, beloved, and popular basketball state all-star. From day one, half the school has wanted to be his best friend, and the other half has wanted – and maybe succeeded, for all Louis knows – to fuck him. All because he’s hot and athletic.

 

Tearing his gaze away from the younger boy’s mouth, Louis sets his sights on Harry’s eyes. A liquid mix of emerald and jade, they quite literally glow from beneath his dark lashes. Especially now, when they’re alight with quiet humor.

 

“So, are you okay?” Harry asks again.

 

“Yup, ‘m fine man. Think I’ll be done for the day,” Louis says, lifting himself from the bench. He wraps his ear bud wires around his phone after he checks the time. 3:25. Shit, Niall won’t be done with detention for another 35 minutes. Whatever, he’ll just practice juggling his soccer ball on his own.

 

Harry, for his part, ignores Louis, as he sets to work changing the weights on the bar.

 

“How much did you have on here?” he asks the older boy.

 

Louis is a little annoyed because he’s still really embarrassed. He doesn’t like feeling indebted to the sophomore prom king material. “I dunno, like, 180 I think.”

 

“Looks like it. How many reps did you do?”

 

Okay, is he just rubbing it in now? “Are you just rubbing it in now?” Louis speaks his mind.

 

Harry has lowered himself onto the bench, and is gripping and regripping the bar with his powdered hands.

 

“No, man, just asking.”

 

Louis scowls at Harry’s long legs, spread on either side of the bench, basketball shorts riding up to mid-thigh. He scowls more deeply at the muscle rippling along his creamy-skinned arms as he sets his grip. Louis answers, “17. And a half.”

 

“Damn, that’s impressive,” Harry praises, eyebrows raised as he looks over to where Louis stands in the corner of the weight room, backpack hoisted onto his shoulders. “Hey, where are you going? I need a spot. You owe me,” he reminds Louis, who is not attempting to conceal his desire to leave.

 

Louis is a nice guy, though, and he does clearly owe the continued functioning of his throat to the kid. With a small sigh, he drops his backpack down against the wall and quietly walks back to the bench press.

 

“I don’t even like working out,” Louis admits, while he stands rather aimlessly behind Harry’s head. It looks like he’s added about 15 pounds to each end of the bar. Show-off.

 

“Me, neither. I only do it because Coach makes us. And I need to get tougher if we’re gonna win State this year.” This conversation is so not Louis’ cup of tea. He simply nods in reply.

 

Harry’s frown returns as he looks up at Louis, his head sort of between the older boy’s legs. “I don’t think I could do 17 reps of 180.” After Louis fails to comment, he asks, “You’re a senior, right?”

 

Lafayette is a small school, so it’s kind of difficult not to know these things. Still, Louis is surprised that he’s even on Harry’s radar.

 

“Yup. Louis Tomlinson.”

 

“Yeah, I know. You blog for the school website? I see your name in the emails we get about it.”

 

“Yeah.” Louis has to admit it’s nice that someone notices the emails. Even though Harry probably doesn’t go on to read the blogs. “I see your name everywhere on our sports update page.”

 

To his surprise, Harry merely rolls his eyes and starts lifting. Louis can’t help but watch the boy’s knuckles whiten on the bar, or his brow furrow deeply in concentration and exertion. He looks at the way Harry’s lips purse when he breathes in and pout dramatically when he exhales, darkening with the flow of blood. After 8 reps, he almost throws the bar back onto its hooks, breathing labored. A sheen of sweat has broken out across his forehead, dampening the dark brown curls swooped there. Louis chooses not to think hard about those sweaty curls or the full red lips below them. For fuck’s sake.

 

“Toss me that water bottle?” Harry asks in a familiar tone, as if he and Louis do this all the time. Louis half likes it, half finds it annoying.

 

Handing Harry the item, Louis decides to be polite and normal. They’re just a couple of teenage lads, after all. “You guys got a shot at State this year, then?”

 

Head thrown back, Harry squirts a stream of water down the back of his throat, looking underneath his eyelids at Louis. He tilts his head back down, wiping his lips with the back of his wrist. “Yeah, we do. I mean, Lichtfield is gonna be tough, and Webster Groves is really fucking good, but we have the guys to beat anybody. You can have a drink; I don’t mind,” he tacks on, tossing the bottle back to Louis.

 

Louis doesn’t know what bottle-sharing protocol is for straight sporty dudes, but he’s really fucking thirsty and Harry offered, so whatever. He squirts some of the cool liquid into his own mouth, relishing it.

 

“So, do you play any sports? What’s your thing besides the school blog?” Harry inquires. Louis is surprised that the younger boy seems genuinely interested to know the answer.

 

“I do drama. School plays and all,” Louis replies while Harry moves over to the leg press. “I mean, I play soccer, too, but not for the school team.”

 

They continue on this way, making small talk about the plays Louis has been in, Harry’s biggest games last year, infamous Lafayette teachers, and the car Louis drives, all while Harry moves from machine to machine, continuing his work out. Louis’ embarrassment has abated for the most part, and he finds that Harry is actually really comfortable to talk with. There’s a kind of self-confident, relaxed charm in the slow cadence of his low voice – especially low for a 16 year old – that sets the older boy at ease. After half an hour, Louis has allowed his sense of humor to be revealed, fueled by his need to make anyone in his presence laugh. He has Harry quite literally giggling by 4:00. Dimples are poked into his round cheeks, red lips are spread full and wide. The boy’s chocolate brown curls are plastered against the sweat of his forehead, and his green eyes sparkle. Fucking sparkle, Louis thinks. The older boy can’t help but grin back.

 

He’s happy to make anyone laugh, but it’s even more rewarding when it’s Harry. On some level of his consciousness, he feels a jealous hunger to be the only boy responsible for the appearance of those dimples.

 

But he suppresses that thought before it even really bubbles up, because this is a straight, sophomore basketball player and Louis is a gay, senior drama kid. Never in a million years.

 

Just then, Niall walks past the windowed walls of the weight room, throwing his hands in the air as if to say, _There you are!_

 

“What are you doing in here, dude? Oh, hi,” Niall notices Harry once he walks through the door.

 

“What’s up. Niall, right?”

 

“Yup. You’re Harry?”

 

Harry nods in reply, and the two bump fists.

 

“How was detention?” Louis asks his best friend, while Harry surreptitiously watches their exchange.

 

“Stupid as always. Hurst is such a bitch.”

 

Louis barks out a laugh at this, and Harry smiles, too. No one likes the Spanish teacher.

 

“All right, well, let’s kick around already. Thanks again, Harry.”

 

Harry happens to look up at the clock over the door at this point, and his eyes widen.

 

“Fuck, practice started 5 minutes ago. FUCK. I’m gonna have to run. Son of a bitch. See you guys around,” he calls over his shoulder as he hurries out the door toward the gym. Just like that. Louis watches him leave, and then follows Niall outside.

 

On their way out to one of the lawns on Lafayette’s generous campus, Niall probes Louis for an explanation of why he was working out, of all things to do, with Harry Styles, of all people. When Louis gives the briefest version of events, Niall simply shrugs, and says, “Good thing he was there. Dumbass.”

 

Louis playfully shoves the blond boy with his shoulder.

 

 

\--

 

 

The weather for their sport had been perfect. It was a beautiful October evening, with the sun crawling lower in the sky to cast an orange glow into the leaf and dirt scented wind. A breeze had whipped around the boys as they passed, dribbled, turned and cut, drying the sweat on their skin and mussing their hair. Louis’ bangs fell into his face as he flitted around Niall with the ball. It was just what he needed to get his mind off things – the audition, college applications, and a pair of dark green eyes.

 

Having said his goodbyes to Niall and headed home, Louis pulls into his driveway at 5:30. He hears the sound of the TV and family banter before he opens the door.

 

Not long after discarding his backpack in his bedroom and taking a quick rinse in the shower (he sort of reeked, to be honest), he sits down to spaghetti and meatballs with his mom, stepdad, and three sisters. He answers all of his mother’s questions, steals Lottie’s garlic bread when she isn’t looking, and dutifully scrubs the spaghetti sauce off the front of one of the twin’s shirts where she let a meatball roll down her chin and into her lap. Louis is kind of amazing at being an older brother. He loves his sisters completely, even though they are all annoying, and would stand up for them in any circumstance. He learned how to love fiercely and protect his own from his mother, who works her ass off for their family. Ever since they were on their own when Louis was a toddler, he’d promised himself to follow his mom’s example.

 

He excuses himself from dinner with the intent of retiring to his room to do some homework or to finish the blog Zayn asked him to do. Zayn is a nice, artsy senior who paints really sick caricatures and is always being asked to make cartoons for his classmates. Although his interests are as geeky as Louis’, he looks like a mysterious male model, so the other students forgive his artistic hobbies. It’s not like Louis is ostracized as a drama kid – he’s just generally overlooked. But no one could overlook Zayn Malik. He is unattainably attractive. Louis is happy to give his art show whatever press he can.

 

After sitting at his laptop for an hour, however, without producing more than a sentence for the blog, Louis gives up. He instead pops in Grease for the millionth time, studying Danny Zuko’s body language and scrolling through Twitter and Tumblr. He chats on Facebook for a while with his best buddy from grade school, Stan, who goes to the public high school across town. He also intermittently texts Perrie and Niall, mostly to exchange favorite movie quotes or make fun of each other.

 

While on his Facebook app, Louis finds himself searching Harry Styles’ name before he really even realizes it. He feels a little spark of curiosity in his gut. He’s intrigued to know more about the lad, for some unknown reason.

 

They have a decent amount of mutual friends. Jesus, Harry’s friend count is over 1,000. How can a person seriously know 1,000 people? Louis would be surprised if he actually talks to half of his 400some friends.

 

He’d expected to find some team trophy-hoisting picture serving as Harry’s cover photo, but instead sees a picture of the boy with his arm around a pretty blonde girl’s shoulder – maybe his girlfriend? Louis scrolls down to check Harry’s relationship status. Evidently, he’s single. Stalking further through his “About” information, Louis discovers that the girl his Harry’s sister, Gemma. Funny that Louis doesn’t recognize her, but maybe she went to Chester High School, like Stan does. Most of Harry’s posts are to do with whatever he’s last been listening to on Spotify (most of which Louis has never heard of). Really, Louis thinks, he shouldn’t have all of this information public, even if it’s harmless.

 

After scrolling through some of Harry’s photo albums – mostly comprised of pictures taken at parties with Solo cups poorly concealed behind people’s backs and action shots of Harry on the basketball court tagged by the school website photographer – Louis clicks back to his profile. The picture there looks to be taken on the team bus. Harry has a gray beanie shoved down hopelessly over his rebellious curls. There are headphone wires hanging on either side of his neck, looping back up to the iPhone he clutches in his hand. But these are minor details compared to the gigantic, stupid, squint-eyed grin plastered on Harry’s face. Honestly, this is Lafayette’s hot, desirable basketball star? He somehow looks like a toddler while still looking like a teenager. Who has a smile _that_ big? Who opens their mouth that wide? Louis finds himself grinning idiotically at the picture. The more he looks at it, the bigger his smile becomes. Louis thinks he must be going stupid.

 

He shuts the Facebook app and glances up at his TV, only to find that Grease has been over for who knows how long. For some reason, he’s annoyed with himself. He cracks open his copy of _Macbeth_ , which he was supposed to have finished for tomorrow, but he’s only on Act 2. It’s not long until he gives up on that, slamming the book shut and staring at the ceiling.

 

Remiss of any other ideas, he starts to hum his audition song. Soon he’s softly singing it to his ceiling as he lies back on his mattress, with arms folded beneath his head.

 

“Ohh, it’s what you do to meee. Ohh, it’s what you do to me, what you do to me.” Louis’s eyes drift shut, and out of the darkness images of Harry pop (welcome? unwelcome? he doesn’t know) into his brain. Harry’s sweaty curls. Harry’s pouting red lips. Harry’s milky skin flushed with exertion. The way Harry looked down at him while he squirted water into his open mouth.

 

The Plain White T’s words are reverberating in his head as he slides a hand down to cup his groin. He’s half hard already, and these images of Harry keep flashing across the backs of his eyelids, one after the other, over and over. Harry’s bare arms. Harry’s spread legs. Those fucking damp curls…

 

Louis tries not to read too much into it when he tugs his pants and boxers down, releasing his hard cock. He doesn’t judge himself when he starts jacking off to the Harry that’s tormenting his mind with cheeky grins and ruby lips. His fingers feel good against the hot and heavy weight of his cock, but there’s desperation in him now that the sliding of his hand can’t quite satisfy. Instead, Louis’ cruel fucking brain imagines how good his dick would feel filling up Harry’s sinful mouth, fucking into those flushed cheeks, while Louis snakes his fingers into those sweaty curls…

 

It doesn’t take long. Very soon, Louis is tugging ribbons of cum out onto his chest, which heaves with pleasure. His orgasm has taken some of the edge off, but not all of it – which Louis finds _very_ annoying. His masturbation sessions have always been routinely satisfying, until now, apparently.

 

After he tiptoes to the hallway bathroom to clean himself up and brush his teeth, Louis throws himself back onto his bed, casting an arm over his face as he hunches into his pillow.

 

“Just some stupid sophomore, Tommo,” he reasons with himself.

 

Many minutes later he drifts into a restless sleep, occasionally unsettled by mental pictures of a pair of green eyes.


	3. Feeling Musical

Harry takes basketball and school very seriously. He’s always made the grades he needs to stay eligible to play. But that’s not his only motivation. He just doesn’t like not knowing things. He’s always had a keen interest in learning because who wants to go through their whole life being dull and not trying?

 

Harry knows there’s a slim chance for him to get scouted for an NCAA basketball scholarship coming from such a tiny high school, so his grades will eventually be instrumental in obtaining an academic scholarship to college. His mom continually reminds him of this, and as Harry loves and respects her, he works hard to bring home A’s and B’s. He may get up to some shenanigans and go to parties that he’d be kicked off the team for attending, but when Harry’s mother says he needs good grades, Harry dutifully complies.

 

So, even though Spanish is hard, stupid, and hard, Harry tries his utmost to comprehend what the hell Mrs. Hurst means by “the subjunctive mood” and how that all works.

 

Next to him, fellow teammate and sophomore point guard, Liam, is literally groaning.

 

“Duuuude, I don’t fucking get this. What is she even talking about?” Liam looks up at Mrs. Hurst in utter bemusement.

 

Liam, unlike Harry, was not very good at school, and, unlike Harry, he had almost no desire to get any better at it. Harry was often called upon to be Liam’s personal tutor on the team bus when they traveled to away games, or before late practices when they waited for the women’s team to evacuate the gym. Harry always huffed and puffed, complaining that Liam might understand Algebra 2 or Biology better if he could be bothered to pay attention and not chat up girls. But in the end, he didn’t want his point guard and best mate to get kicked off the team. Plus, Harry secretly loved to help people and show off his academic prowess. He was proud of being smart and knowing the answers – as people should be, in his opinion.

 

But the subjunctive mood of Spanish was quite honestly stumping him at the moment. He’d have to go to Mrs. Hurst’s office during one of his free periods to ask for more help. He really can’t afford for a low grade to affect his GPA.

 

“When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” Harry informs Liam, who’s now repeatedly bumping his forehead against his desk top in defeat. Liam was a typical varsity jock: handsome, built, and 100% focused on hooking up with hot senior girls. Which he did frequently and proudly. It’s a shame, really, Harry thought, because Liam is actually a sweet and friendly guy when he’s not acting like a total douchebag. Nevertheless, they had a blast at parties together, where Liam and Harry often served as each other’s wingmen in orchestrating hook ups. Harry doesn’t have a tenth of Liam’s experience, though, despite what people may gossip.

 

The bell rings to signal the end of the school day (whose idea was it to schedule a Spanish class for last period?), and Harry and Liam scrape their chairs back as they rise to join the crowd exiting the classroom.

 

“Wait, we have late practice today, don’t we?” Liam groans again.

 

“Yeah, but I dunno why. I’m pretty sure the girls’ team has an away game.” Harry answers as the pair weaves their way to their lockers through the traffic of students.

 

“Because this school is stupid, that’s why.”

 

“Stop bitching.”

 

“What the fuck am I gonna do until 5:30?” Liam whines, ignoring his friend.

 

“I dunno. I’m gonna shoot around, though. Wanna get Taco Bell before practice?”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” Liam perks up at the suggestion. “I’m seriously craving Dorito tacos.”

 

“I want, like, 5 quesadillas.”

 

“And, like, 3 burritos.”

 

“Nah, you’ll just shit yourself at practice again.”

 

Liam scowls when he reaches his locker, just 3 spots up from Harry’s, and looks around to see if anyone heard his friend. A small bespectacled girl with a ponytail passes by, but she seems dead focused on escaping the boys’ notice rather than listening in on their conversation.

 

“Shut the fuck up, man, people can hear you. I don’t know why I even told you about that. Asshole.”

 

Harry’s barks out a cackle of a laugh, and then quickly snaps his hand up to his mouth to suppress it. Liam looks seriously pissed.

 

“No one _heard_. Don’t be a baby. Except you kind of are, because babies shit themselves and that’s what you did. So, yeah.”

 

“Fuck you, Styles. I’m going home to watch porn. You’re a dick.”

 

Harry just continues to chuckle.

 

“Taco Bell at quarter to 5?” he calls out to the retreating figure of his friend, who’s storming down the hallway toward the door to the parking lot. Liam merely flips him off without turning back.

 

Still smiling to himself, Harry gathers up his homework and heads toward the men’s locker room where his practice jersey, shorts, and shoes are stored. He turns a corner, and heads down the hallway that connects to the gym, from which he can get to the locker room.

 

Just as he vaguely wonders what’s going on today that made it so they can’t practice until 5:30, Harry’s question is answered by the sound of music coming from the gym. Ugh. Tryouts for the musical. Auditions. Whatever they’re called.

 

He’s more than a little irritated because he really wanted to practice his free throws – he only shot 86% from the line last season, which simply wasn’t good enough for Harry. He doesn’t understand why the auditions couldn’t be held after basketball practice, either. Surely the priority use of the gym is sports?

 

He reaches the entranceway to the gym from the school hallway, planning to stand there, annoyed, until someone notices how they’ve inconvenienced him.

 

That is until he looks up at the stage, which runs parallel to the basketball court, on the side of the gym opposite the bleachers. Walking up to the lone microphone that graces center stage, with his hands clasped behind his back, is Louis Tomlinson. All at once, Harry remembers their conversation in the weight room two days ago, when Louis talked about his involvement with the school plays. He felt a little stupid for forgetting, for whatever reason.

 

Louis is dressed in all black: a plain black cotton T shirt, black skinny jeans, and black on black Converse. His hair is swept away from his face, hinting at Danny Zuko without interpreting his style literally.

 

Well, Harry wasn’t just gonna stand here and watch a dude sing. He hitches his backpack strap further up onto his shoulder with a frown. As he turns around, he hears one of the three people seated at a table at center court – the woman in the middle – address Louis enthusiastically.

 

“Hi, everyone,” Louis replies cheerfully. “I’m auditioning for the role of Danny Zuko, and I’ll be singing ‘Hey There Delilah’ by the Plain White T’s.”

 

Harry slowly stops in his tracks, and retraces the three steps he’s just taken away from the gym. He has no idea why he’s staying to listen, except he loves this song, even if it is really mainstream. He’s not into drama, and definitely not musicals, but he’s curious to know if Louis is any good at singing. It’s kind of like watching the X-Factor live. Harry hopes he’s not shit, even though it would be a little funny to see somebody bomb.

 

He peeks his head around the gym entranceway, half his face concealed by the door frame. What the fuck is he doing, though, really. If any of his teammates sees him, they’ll think he’s gone totally mental.

 

Before he can turn back once again, however, Louis begins his song.

 

“ _Hey there, Delilah,_  
What's it like in New York City?  
I'm a thousand miles away,  
But, girl, tonight you look so pretty.  
Yes, you do.  
Times Square can't shine as bright as you.  
I swear it's true.”

 

Harry’s kind of staring right now. He absolutely loves music and has really eclectic taste. He especially loves finding indie bands that no one else has ever heard of. But in all the music he’s listened to – all the hundreds of artists he’s heard – he’s never encountered a voice quite like Louis Tomlinson’s. It’s somehow soft and rough at the same time, like sugar with a sore throat. It’s not perfect, but it’s different. _  
  
_ “ _Hey there, Delilah,_  
Don't you worry about the distance.  
I'm right there if you get lonely;  
Give this song another listen.  
Close your eyes.  
Listen to my voice - it's my disguise.  
I'm by your side.”

 

He fails to understand how this is the same guy from the weight room the other day. Then, he had been embarrassed most of the time, and, yeah, hilarious after a while. But he had still been mostly reserved, like he didn’t want Harry to see the real him – or even come close to doing so. But right now, with his left hand lifted to caress the head of the microphone softly with just his fingertips (seriously, who does that?) and his eyes boring intently into those of his judges, Harry thinks Louis looks like the most self-assured teenager he’s ever seen. He looks born to do this. He doesn’t have to jump around or dance or flail his arms dramatically. Just Louis with his microphone at his fingertips is all the charisma he needs.

 

Harry knows the feeling of confidence he can see radiating from Louis right now: it’s exactly what he experiences when he steps on the basketball court. Like he completely owns it.

 

Except Harry hasn’t had that feeling in a while. With all the pressure from his coaches, his step-dad, and his teammates in anticipation of the upcoming season, he’s found it difficult to feel comfortable on the court again. The upperclassmen hate him for stealing their playing time, but they also don’t want him to fuck up their shot at State. The pressure is kind of getting to him. He watches Louis wistfully, wishing he could siphon away that easy confidence for his own use. __  
  
“Oh, it's what you do to me.  
Oh, it's what you do to me.  
Oh, it's what you do to me.  
Oh, it's what you do to me,  
What you do to me.”

 

Louis finishes his song with a closed-lipped smile and a slight bow.

 

“Excellent as always, Louis,” the woman in the middle praises. “Why did you choose this song? Why not something more exuberant for _Grease_?”

 

Harry scowls at the question. Who cares - he obviously sang great. If they didn’t like the song, they should’ve told him to sing something else.

 

“Well, first of all, I really love this song, so I wanted to be comfortable,” Louis begins his answer, seeming unfazed by the inquiry. “Second, I think it’s easier to do the high energy parts of _Grease_ than it is to do the subtle, emotional parts. So, I wanted to showcase my ability to do that today.” Louis finishes his response with another small smile, hands clasped behind his back once more. Harry finds himself agreeing with his answer, even though he doesn’t know shit about musicals. Louis’ reasons sounded good enough to him.

 

The woman at the middle of the table whispers something to the man on her left and glances to the other woman at her right. Louis merely waits patiently. Harry finds himself growing impatient.

 

The woman smiles back up at Louis. “Like I said, you were great. We have a few more boys auditioning for Danny, but we’ll have our choices posted on Monday. Thanks, Louis.” Harry’s scowl deepens. Just give him the part now, he thinks.

 

“Thank you, all. Have a good afternoon!” Louis offers with a wave, retreating back to the side stage.

 

In the break between auditions, Harry walks quietly back down the hallway, only this time, he turns left to enter the band room. The band room has a door to the hallway that connects the school and the gym, and a door to the hallway that connects the gym to the locker rooms and weight room. The band uses the second door to get easier access to the stage for pregame and halftime performances. The only reason Harry didn’t use the band room shortcut earlier is because, strictly speaking, he isn’t supposed to be in here. The band teacher, Mr. Osland, is an absolute tyrant who categorically hates all athletes. Harry assumes he must have gotten picked on when he was in high school.

 

The coast is clear, thankfully, and Harry sneaks past the risers and music stands to the back door, unharassed by any crabby band teachers.

 

He busts through the door just in time to see Louis coming down the steps off the side stage looking rather pleased with himself. The older boy starts walking down the corridor in Harry’s direction, smiling at his feet.

 

“Hey,” Harry calls to him, a little lamely.

 

Louis jolts from his self-contented reverie and stops in his tracks, looking shocked to find Harry staring at him from the other end of the hallway. Literally, his mouth has popped open in surprise, eyebrows perked high on his forehead.

 

“Uh. Hi. What’s up?” Louis responds, a little dumbfoundedly. What happened to the swagger Harry just saw a minute ago? Or is it just that Louis doesn’t want to make conversation with an annoying underclassman? Harry assesses his now stony expression and the hard set of his shoulders. It must be the latter.

 

“Not much,” Harry answers back, as Louis picks up his stride again, no doubt to head for the doorway at the end of the corridor that leads to one of Lafayette’s three parking lots.

 

Louis sort of tightens his lips in acknowledgement, and continues past Harry. Is this guy just an asshole, or what, he wonders. He did keep him from basically choking to death. Whatever, Harry is going to be nice, because that’s what he is – a nice person. Whatever Louis Tomlinson’s problem might be.

 

“I heard your audition,” he says to Louis’ back, since the lad has already trod past him.

 

The older boy stops and whips his head around. Jesus, he can look mean when he wants to. Louis’ blue eyes are cold. A muscle jumps at the corner of his jaw where he clenches it.

 

“What were you listening for?” Louis demands. He looks pissed. And defensive.

 

Okay, seriously, this guy has some problem Harry doesn’t know about. He can’t understand why, after their relatively friendly run-in two days ago, Louis is now acting like a dick. Harry chooses to ignore the question, which he finds dumb.

 

“You were really good. That’s a great song. No wonder you love this drama stuff.”

 

Harry watches as some of the tension seeps away from Louis’ shoulders. It’s as though the planes of his face are softening in front of Harry’s eyes. He can literally see the older boy’s eyes lighten.

 

His defensiveness remains, however. His anger is replaced by…anxiety?

 

“Really?”

 

“For sure, man. I was like, why don’t they just give him the part now?”

 

Louis smiles at this, and Harry thinks he must be bipolar or something, because he looks so soft and warm and friendly in comparison to the asshole who walked past him twenty seconds ago. Harry finds himself smiling in return, despite his bemusement.

 

“Thanks,” he chuckles a little. “I was so nervous, but it felt like it went really well.” Louis pauses, a confused look passing over his face. “Why were you listening, though?”

 

“Oh, I was gonna shoot around in the gym, but I didn’t realize it was being used. And I just kind of heard your audition when I was walking down here,” Harry fibs a little. He doesn’t need to tell Louis the whole weird story.

 

“Gotcha. So you like Plain White T’s?” Oh, so Louis is going to be civil now. Harry feels a little awkward talking to a senior boy about his music preferences alone in a hallway. Each boy is now leaning against a wall, opposite each other. Louis has one knee bent, the bottom of his foot pressed flat against the wall, with his hands thrust into his pockets. Harry is simply propped on the wall on one shoulder, his arms crossed, with one foot stacked on top of the other.

 

“Not really. Like, I don’t know any of their other stuff.”

 

“Yeah, me neither. I basically don’t know any music outside the Top 40 or pop punk. Except for, like, songs that everyone knows. Like The Rolling Stones and stuff.”

 

Harry tries not to get too excited about the potential music education project unfolding before him. They aren’t friends, Louis is a senior, and more than one of his buddies has let him know that his indie music is shit.

 

“Dude, I’m like the exact opposite. Well, I listen to stuff that’s on the radio now, but I’m always looking for new bands.”

 

For whatever reason, Louis is smiling, crinkly-eyed, in response to Harry’s exuberance. Maybe, being into musicals and stuff, Louis wouldn’t think Harry’s music preferences are as weird as people like Liam do. All Liam likes is gangster rap. Honestly…

 

“I would’ve taken you for, like, an alternative rock person. Or classic rock. Like Led Zeppelin.” Louis is scratching absentmindedly at his left forearm. Harry finds himself watching the movement, the rippling of the tendons in his hand, the slight flex of the muscles in his arm. What the fuck.

 

“Well, yeah, they’re amazing. Top five favorite band.”

 

“When I listen to rock, it’s always Green Day and Blink-182. I’m not very original,” Louis laughs at himself while he scrapes a thumbnail across his bottom lip. Harry’s dick twitches a little. _What the fuck_.

 

“Green Day is sooo good. I feel like I’m the only person who’s listened to ¡Uno!, ¡Dos!, and ¡Tré!”

 

“Oh my god, dude, me too! That’s some of their best stuff. And no one ever knows what I’m talking about when I mention any of those songs.”

 

They’re both getting excited about music. Together. _Harry has maybe, hopefully, found someone to talk about music with_. He’s buzzing.

 

“Seriously, I know! What are your favorites from those albums?” Harry prompts Louis eagerly.

 

“Umm, let’s see… ‘Nuclear Family,’ for sure. That’s like the perfect rock song. Umm… definitely ‘Brutal Love,’ ‘X-Kid,’ and ‘Missing You.’” Harry is nodding along with Louis’ choices, eyebrows furrowed, because this is serious business, okay.

 

“Agree with all of that. But you forgot ‘Stop When The Red Lights Flash’ and ‘Stray Heart.’”

 

“Damn. You know what you’re talking about,” Louis says appreciatively. Harry smiles at Louis again, who returns the gesture. Maybe they’re becoming friends. He has a million acquaintances, but not many of them that he could call close companions. Not that he thinks Louis wants to be BFFs all of a sudden, but it could be cool to talk to someone about his interests outside of basketball. But Louis better like basketball, or else it’s not happening.

 

Harry notices that Louis is frankly really fucking good-looking. The older boy is quite a bit shorter than him – Harry boasts a proud 6’3” frame – but he’s got a face that was basically designed for magazine ads. His sunken cheeks, tan skin, pink lips, long lashes, and perfectly styled hair are the makings of a teen star on the CW. Or something. _Why the fuck is Harry looking at him like this? And why does he keep getting the same response from his groin when he does?_

 

Harry is confused. He’s just talking to a senior guy about music that they love. Period.

 

After an awkward pause in conversation, Louis seems to remember himself. He looks slightly regretful when he tells Harry that he’s got to get going.

 

“Cool. Good luck with the part,” Harry mutters. He’s not sure if Louis heard him.

 

Once the older boy is out the door, Harry feels much better. That was confusing as fuck. But also nice. But also weird.

 

Yeah, he’s glad that Louis has left. Shaking off the moment – literally, Harry shakes his head to clear his thoughts – he decides to just walk back to the cafeteria to do homework until he meets Liam at Taco Bell.

 

 

\--

 

 

Practice was frustrating. Harry felt like shit, for one thing, because what kind of an idiot eats Taco Bell before two and a half hours of basketball. For another, he didn’t shoot well. And on top of that, jackass senior small forward, Jeff Harrison – whose position Harry had taken last year – was roughing him around the entire time, trying to prove a point to the coaches that Harry wasn’t strong enough for varsity. Just because Harrison was a meat head, though, didn’t mean he could keep up with Harry on defense. Harry was too quick and too good at scoring. Still, he was gonna be sore.

 

His mom had picked him up at 8:00, when practice was over. Doing a sport in high school and keeping up your grades is basically impossible. There is no time. Harry is way too exhausted to attempt to do the rest of his assignments now that he’s home.

 

His mom knowingly makes him a bowl of strawberry Jell-O with banana slices – Harry’s favorite – before leaving him in peace for the evening.

 

Sprawled out on their living room couch with the bowl of Jell-O propped on his chest, the remote in his left hand and his phone in his right, Harry checks social media. Judging from Twitter, Branden Dawson had an incredible game tonight for Michigan State, Harry’s favorite college basketball team. He’d absolutely love to play there. He scrolls through some NBA updates from the ESPN analysts he follows before switching to Facebook.

 

He has several notifications, most of them likes and comments, and one party invitation from this girl, Sienna Davis, who’s been trying to fuck him since 7th grade. He rolls his eyes and moves over to the icon indicating he has a new friend request. He taps the little heads icon, and up pops his name.

 

Louis Tomlinson.

 

Harry is quite surprised, given the older boy’s rather cold departure that afternoon. He has no idea how to interpret the request. In fact, when Louis is involved, he has no idea how to think, period.

 

He bites down on his bottom lip as he moves his thumb over the screen to respond to the notification.


	4. Feeling Sunny

He sent it. The friend request.

 

Louis feels like a fucking twelve year old girl for being nervous, but it’s awkward. Facebook is awkward. Making friends is awkward. No one feels right after sending a friend request. He figures with all the friends Harry has, though, he’ll just be one among the 1,000 plus. He’s sure Harry’s used to it.

 

But for Christ’s sake, Louis is the senior here. He probably should’ve played it cooler. Then again, maybe Harry sees him as a cooler upperclassman.

 

Louis scoffs at his pathetic stupidity. _Nope, buddy, you’re just a freak. Enjoy the weirdness you’ve just invited into your life_ , he thinks to himself.

 

He’s finally finished _Macbeth_ and the blog for Zayn’s art show, which he just sent along to Lafayette’s computers teacher slash IT expert who manages the website. He’s currently in the midst of a thrilling FIFA session with Niall on Xbox. The boys are hurling insults at each other through their headsets.

 

“GOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL!” Louis shouts obnoxiously, leaping to his feet just after he sneaks one past Niall’s goalkeeper in the 91st minute. He punches the air and throws his fists up above his head, while Niall sends a steady stream of swear words into his ear.

 

“Un-fucking-believable,” Niall complains. “I hit the fucking button and he didn’t move. You got lucky, asshole.”

 

Louis is still basking in his victory, to the point that his mom has to pound on his door to remind him that his sisters are in bed.

 

“Sorry, Mom!” he calls to the door, not sorry at all. “Sucks to suck, bitch,” he throws back at Niall into his microphone.

 

“I’m out. I dunno why I play this shit with you,” Niall responds and moments later his Xbox Live account shows he’s offline.

 

Louis continues to smile to himself proudly as he plops onto his bed. It’s 11:30. He’s surprised his mom didn’t get angrier with him for playing Xbox at this hour. They have an unspoken understanding that Louis doesn’t actually “go to bed” when he goes to bed, but he’s still supposed to pretend he’s getting some sleep, at least for the sake of setting a good example for his sisters.

 

Lying back on his pillows and carelessly pulling the comforter half over himself, Louis checks social media again. His room is dark except for the glow of his iPhone casting a circle of light over his face and shoulders. It makes his white t shirt look blue. He opens his Facebook app, and it feels like a brick drops in his gut when he remembers the friend request he sent 4 hours ago.

 

He quickly opens the little red notification at the top of the screen.

 

 _Harry Styles accepted your friend request_.

 

He lets go of the breath he’d been holding. Cool. So they’re Facebook friends now. That probably means very little to Harry, anyway. Louis hadn’t thought about the questions he’ll get from Niall and Perrie if they see the new addition to his friend list, but fuck them, it’s not a big deal.

 

Now he doesn’t have to feel like a stalker when he looks around Harry’s profile. Hardly anything has changed since he went snooping on Tuesday, except the continued Spotify updates.

 

A slow smile breaks across Louis’ face when he sees Harry’s most recent song selection: Green Day’s “Brutal Love”.

 

He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t want to think about it at all, but he looks at the update and feels a tiny, aching, cruel twinge of hope.

 

 

\--

 

 

Louis and Niall are set to kick around again after school today to celebrate the beginning of the weekend. Perrie has even agreed to come and watch, simply out of a complete lack of anything better to do. Louis texts Stan at lunch to see if he’d like to join them across town. He quickly gets a reply in the affirmative.

 

Around 3:15 Stan joins the trio on one of the vast lawns adjacent to Lafayette High School, with his own soccer ball tucked under his arm.

 

“’Sup, Lou,” he greets his lifetime friend with half high-five, half grasp of his hand. “Hey, Niall. Hey, Perrie,” he shoots to the other two, whom he’s hung out with many times before due to their mutual friend. Niall replies with a friendly salutation, whereas Perrie – in her usual way – merely waves from where she’s sitting with headphones in and a book in her lap.

 

There’s not a lot you can do with just three lads, so it’s much of the usual: passing the ball around, attempting and failing to do tricks, and general milling about.

 

Stan has always given Louis shit for not trying out for soccer at Lafayette. He was the best player on their grade school team and obviously loved the sport, but Stan knows his reasons, even if he’s never agreed with him. Stan was pretty shit, himself, so it wasn’t much of a question when he didn’t make an attempt to join Chester High School’s team. Niall, on the other hand, had played for Lafayette and been one of the team’s top performers until he tore his ACL at the end of last season. He’d gotten the necessary surgery, and came to the school grounds every day during the spring and summer once he could start working on his recovery. That’s how he befriended Louis. The two decided it was a real fucking drag to play soccer on their own, so they sort of made it a regular thing to kick around together, sometimes joined by Stan. Unfortunately, Niall’s knee never did recover properly, so instead of taking up a spot on the bench, he honorably discharged himself from the team.

 

Their sport deteriorates into basically standing around and talking with a soccer ball at their feet after an hour and a half. Perrie has long since stopped paying the boy’s any attention, too absorbed in her book to give them notice.

 

Louis is laughing at something Stan has said when he looks up to see the door at the back of the gym crack open and a stream of sweaty, disgruntled looking boys trail out of it sporadically. He doesn’t hear what Niall has just asked him when he spies a mop of brown curls standing out among the group, ducked down to talk to another boy with a buzz cut and, just being honest, a really fit body. Louis simply can’t control his scowl.

 

“Hey, dumbass. I asked you if you’re doing anything for Halloween tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, uhh. I dunno. Might have to stay home and pass out candy since my mom will be out with my sisters. Ugh, I didn’t even think about that, actually. That’s gonna be so boring.”

 

“Maybe we can come over for some FIFA?” Stan suggests, reading Niall’s mind.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’d be fine. God, we’re lame as hell, though.”

 

“Hey, it’s your fault, not ours,” Stan defends.

 

Louis looks away from his friends once more to see what happened to the curly-haired lad. Needless to say, he’s surprised when he spots Harry not far away. Walking across the grass. Towards them.

 

 _Okay, act cool, Louis, for fuck’s sake_.

 

Harry gives him a big, childlike wave as he closes the distance between himself and the group. When Louis gives a tight wave back, Niall and Stan turn around to see who he’s gesturing at. Louis looks at his friends to gauge their reactions. Niall looks slightly confused, and Stan is impassive.

 

“What’s up?” Harry calls, smiling brightly, when he’s close enough to greet them.

 

“How’s it going?” Louis replies. Harry comes to a halt a few feet away from the lads. In the corner of his eye, Louis sees Perrie peek up from her book. For some reason, his face heats up slightly.

 

“Practice got out early. Game tomorrow,” Harry answers in return.

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“Hey, Niall,” Harry greets the blond boy affably, and receives a friendly “Hey” in return.

 

Louis gathers that Harry is waiting to find out who the other boy is, so he takes his cue to make an introduction.

 

“This is my buddy, Stan. He goes to Chester. We’ve known each other since kindergarten, though. Stan, this is Harry.” The two exchange nods and greetings. Louis tacks on, “Oh, and that’s Perrie. I dunno if you know her.” He watches Harry look over at the girl seated on the grass, head reburied in her book, who simply gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement. Harry smiles slightly as he turns back to face the boys.

 

“So, what’s up?” Harry asks again. Louis realizes he never really answered.

 

“Just a little soccer.”

 

There’s an awkward silence after that that drives Louis insane. Why did Harry walk over here, anyway? He feels like everyone is waiting for him to do something.

 

“Who do you guys play tomorrow?” he asks in a desperate attempt to make this normal.

 

“Wentzville. We should blow them out. I hear the students are gonna come in Halloween costumes.”

 

“Oh, yeah, everyone’s talking about that,” Niall chimes in, apparently thinking the idea is hilarious.

 

“You guys coming?” Harry directs at Louis and Niall, seeming to block Stan out of the conversation. He looks pointedly at Louis, who finds the scrutiny uncomfortable. He can’t think straight with those green eyes trained on him. Harry’s cheeks are blooming with red after his exercise, not to mention his hair is absolutely out of control curly. It takes a second for Louis to find his voice.

 

“Oh, uh, maybe.” He pauses a beat. “I mean, no, I don’t think so. I have to hand out Halloween candy at home.” Suddenly, Louis wants to become Lafayette High School basketball’s number one fan. Even though he’s never been to a game in his previous three years here.

 

Niall gives a noncommittal half shrug to Harry. Louis glances over at Stan, who looks angry about something. Louis doesn’t understand why.

 

Harry, for his part, appears crestfallen. God, why the fuck does it have to be Halloween tomorrow and why does he have to give out candy. Can’t people just skip their house?

 

His thoughts are interrupted by Stan’s voice. “Listen, man, my mom’s gonna want me home for supper soon, so I should probably run. We should do this again. Maybe next week?”

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis replies. “Niall, you in?”

 

“For sure. Anytime.”

 

Louis gives Stan the same bro handshake that he greeted him with earlier and mutters a “See ya.” He tries not to notice Harry frowning openly at the two of them. What’s his deal?

 

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Stan says a little stiffly before walking away with Niall. They collect Perrie on their way, who gives Louis a salute before trudging off with the boys.

 

Louis watches their figures recede for a moment before dragging his gaze back to Harry, who still looks annoyed. Or disappointed. Or something. But why?

 

“Wish I could come tomorrow. Sounds like it’s gonna be a good game to watch.” Louis is trying, and he thinks failing, not to betray how upset he is that he won’t be there to see Harry in all his glory – flushed skin, sweaty curls, generally kicking ass and being amazing.

 

Is it normal for 18 year olds to find 16 year olds attractive? Louis allows himself to reassess Harry’s tall and muscular frame, his strong jaw and confident demeanor. Yeah, this kid isn’t like most sophomores.

 

“Yeah, man, me too.” Harry seems to do his own assessment of Louis. “So, you think we’re friends now?” Harry asks after a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“You friended me on Facebook, so I guess you think we’re friends,” Harry repeats, with a hint of disdain in his voice.

 

“Uh… Yeah, I mean… I dunno,” Louis splutters. He thinks he feels his heart fall through his ass. He’s so fucking stupid. Why did he send that friend request? He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

 

Harry’s blank face finally splits into a grin. “Just fucking with you, dude. We’re totally friends. You understand good music. I mean, not as much as I do, but you’ll get there.”

 

 _That little fucker_ , Louis thinks. He might kill this kid for being so irritating and charming and fuckable and stupid.

 

“Fuck off. You’re lucky I even talk to a 16 year old shit like you,” Louis shoots back with obvious humor in his voice. Harry ruffles his hair with his hand looking supremely relaxed as he does it. Louis relaxes in response. Since when has he been hanging on Harry’s every look and gesture? Crushes are fucking torture.

 

A crush. Is that what Louis has? He shelves that thought deep in his brain. He’ll deal with it later.

 

Louis softens the blow of his harsh words with a smile. “I’m only joking, man. You look like you’re in college, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, right. Can’t do 17 reps of 180 pounds, though.”

 

Louis tries with all his might to suppress his self-satisfied smirk. Harry seems to find this weight-lifting ability considerably impressive. He thinks he wants to keep impressing Harry.

 

“Can you eat an entire jar of pickles in one sitting? I can do that,” Louis brags.

 

“How big was the jar?”

 

“Gallon.”

 

“No fucking way.”

 

“Not even kidding. Ask Niall. Or Stan. They both witnessed it.”

 

Harry’s face darkens a little at the mention of his second friend, but he makes no comment about it.

 

“That’s sick, dude.”

 

“Literally. It was disgusting. I haven’t eaten pickles since. I shat green for, like, 3 days.”

 

Harry coughs out a disgustingly adorable and goofy laugh at that. Giggles continue to bubble up from his throat for several seconds, and Louis can’t help but chuckle in response, a dopey smile plastered to his face.

 

Note to self: spend 99% of time making Harry laugh.

 

“That is so gross, Louis. I’m impressed.”

 

There, now he’s admitted he finds him impressive. And he said his name. Louis’ smile can only grow wider.

 

“So, do you listen to Spotify, like, constantly, or what?” he teases the younger boy.

 

“Pretty much,” Harry replies with childlike honesty. “You should check out my playlists.”

 

“You know you sound like a douchebag, right? ‘Go check out my playlist, bro.’ Are you aspiring to be some skeezy DJ when you grow up?”

 

Harry continues to giggle, at his own expense, no less. Louis thinks he could tease him for hours and never get tired of it. Those dimples are beyond addicting.

 

Edit: spend 100% of time making Harry laugh.

 

“I knowwww. I’m just really proud of them, okay? My friends are tired of hearing about it. You’re my new conversion project.”

 

“Conversion to what?”

 

“Styles’ musical stylings.”

 

God, this kid is such a dork. And it’s utterly annoying how adorable it is.

 

“You’re a fucking nerd, dude. Aren’t you supposed to be all, like, sporty and boneheaded and watch ESPN 12 hours a day?”

 

“Well, I basically do watch ESPN all day. I just happen to also have music on. Clearly, you like sports, Mr. I Work Out And Play Soccer After School.”

 

Harry sucks at insults, and he’s a dork. And he’s a college scholarship caliber basketball player. Who _is_ this person? How? Why?

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not anywhere near your level, all-star boy.” Louis is pretty sure they’ve been flirting for the last 5 minutes, and it’s kind of really comfortable and not weird, and he’s kind of terrified of ruining it. Harry is probably too straight to notice how hard Louis is crushing on him. He’s trying his best to keep the staring to a bare minimum, so that helps.

 

Harry is apparently really into prolonged eye contact, though. Louis continually finds his own eyes locked with the green pair in front of him, which seems to pierce him more deeply than he would like. The younger boy will find secrets there that would surely ruin everything.

 

The sun is turning orange in the sky, and the purple clouds spread in front of it render the evening prematurely dark. Harry shudders a little in the wind.

 

“Guess I should head home,” Harry says, looking down at his feet and dragging a hand through his curls again. Louis forgot how he must feel sweaty and gross and tired after practice. He probably wants a shower. Harry in the shower. _Not now!_ He pleads with his brain. His dick, however, is about to be one step ahead of them both.

 

“Yeah, me too. Hey, good luck tomorrow. Hope you kick ass,” Louis encourages.

 

Harry bites down on his bottom lip as he lifts his head back up to look at Louis, hand cupped around the back of his neck, smiling a little when he makes eye contact.

 

“Thanks, man.” Louis notices Harry shiver again. The kid’s still just in his basketball shorts and practice jersey. Okay, they need to go home before he catches a cold or some shit.

 

“All right. See you around.”

 

Louis hears a car horn, and looks up to a see a woman sat in a black SUV in the parking lot, gesturing at Harry.

 

“That’s my mom. Gotta go. See you, Louis.”

 

Harry turns and strides over to his mother’s car. The kid gets picked up from practice. Louis feels vaguely creepy about that, for some reason. He shrugs it off, and walks off to the right to his own car.

 

But right before the younger boy is out of earshot, Louis shouts back to him.

 

“Hey, Harry! I’ll definitely take a look at your stupid playlists!”

 

Harry glances back over his shoulder and grins. He gives Louis a wave.

 

Louis smiles all the way home.

 

 

\--

 

 

That night, Louis finds out there is a God. Among the notifications in his Facebook Messenger app is a plea from Sean Funkhauser, the school sports blogger. Funkhauser is a senior like Louis – but chubby, short, pale, and ginger – who basically lives and dies for Lafayette sports. He sycophantically tails the jocks around fishing for quotes and fancying himself to be part of their crew. He’s a nice and friendly person and all; he’s just somewhat delusional.

 

The message indicates that Funkhauser has mono, and absolutely can’t cover tomorrow night’s home opener against Wentzville. He eagerly scrolls down to find that he’s asked everyone else, but Louis is the only writer available/potentially willing to cover the game, and would he please do this favor just this once. There are attachments to the message – he’s sent along all of last season’s stats and a few of his write-ups so that Louis has some place to start.

 

He is positive that he’s floating on a cloud at the moment, angels singing above him, the sun pouring a beam of light into his very bedroom. He quickly taps out his reply – that he’d be happy to cover the basketball team for as long as Funkhauser needs. He sends texts to Niall and Stan to let them know FIFA won’t be happening tomorrow after all.

 

He’s too elated by his own luck to be very baffled by the knowledge that Sean Fucking Funkhauser, of all people, has mono. Louis has kissed a girl before, but his lips are virgin to a boy’s touch.

 

Now, in the privacy of his own bedroom, he allows himself to think about kissing a boy, for the thousandth time. He gently trails his first two fingertips over the soft flesh of his bottom lip, picturing the plump ruby red lips of a certain other boy. If he could pick anyone to lose his male lip virginity to – well, it’s not even a question who he’d choose.


	5. Feeling Sporty

Harry always sleeps like shit the night before a game. He could play for the rest of his life, and he’d still get nervous like this: his stomach churning, his flesh feverish. It’s even worse this Saturday morning because he’s never felt this much pressure to perform well before. All any of his coaches or teammates has talked about all summer is how Harry will be the next star player to lead Lafayette to a state title. Harry knows he has it in him, but he’s terrified of choking.

 

Tonight is his first test to prove whether his freshman season was a fluke or if he’s the real deal: a Division 1 athlete in the making.

 

He chooses his breakfast carefully – proteins and grains, not fats and grease – and scrolls through social media to take his mind off things.

 

Except that doesn’t work at all, since his Facebook and Twitter notifications are chock-full of posts and mentions cheering him on to play well tonight. Most of them are from girls who want in Harry’s pants. Some are from former and current teammates. A couple are Lafayette alums who creepily friend the high school players so they can make passive aggressive statuses about how “back in their day” the team never would have lost to So-And-So High School.

 

He switches over to his news feed and after a few swipes of his thumb sees a name that makes his stomach do a little somersault. Really, he needs to figure out why the fuck that keeps happening.

 

_Louis Tomlinson_

_Oct 30 at 10:38pm_

_Looks like i need to study up on lafayette basketball. Covering the game tomorrow !_

 

Harry feels his eyebrows shoot up, his eyes widen in surprise, and his cheeks stretch slowly into a wide grin. He likes the status without thinking twice about it.

 

Louis is coming to watch him play. Hilarious, cool, self-confident, music-loving, senior Louis will be evaluating Harry’s performance and critiquing the team for the school website.

 

Son of a bitch. As if he wasn’t nervous before.

 

\--

 

Harry’s mom knows to keep her distance on game days. He likes to craft the perfect playlist, shove his headphones into his ears, and drown out the world while he gets in the right mindset to play excellent basketball.

 

They’re in the car, headed to Lafayette for the team’s pregame afternoon shoot around. Harry looks steadily out the window while obnoxiously loud rock music blasts into his ears. Today he’s gone with a mix of punk and metal. He can feel the heavy guitar riffs and pounding drums in his bones. The music makes his blood flow a little faster and his mind become a little clearer. Fuck people’s expectations. Fuck the pressure. They pressure him because they doubt him, Harry thinks. Well, he’ll just have to remove any doubts.

 

\--

 

The gym is absolutely rocking. It looks like the entire towns of Chester and Wentzville have packed in tonight, bodies shoulder to shoulder in the stands. The band is deafening on the stage behind the bench.

 

Harry isn’t listening as Coach Platt goes over the game plan. He’s heard it 5 times already. He knows what he has to do. Instead he looks up at the student section, on the far end of the bleachers across from the Lafayette bench. People went all out for the Halloween theme. Harry sees Batmans, Avengers, Katnisses, Hogwarts students, policemen, nurses, bunnies, zombies, and even a whole crew of guys in full body farm animal suits. It’s really amazing how much support the team gets, although Harry doubts half of the students are actually here to watch the game. They’re here because that’s what you do at Lafayette if you’re cool. And because this game is prep for the massive Halloween party that’s going down afterwards at Sienna Davis’ house.

 

Lineups are starting. The students boo heartily with the announcements of each of Wentzville’s starting 5. Harry, Liam, and the other 3 Lafayette starters are seated on their bench, waiting for their names to be called. Harry glances at Liam next to him who looks absolutely pumped. He goes into total bro-mode sometimes, seriously. But Harry is just as excited on the inside. Tonight he’s going to shut people up and make people scream.

 

Lafayette’s lineup announcements begin, and Harry is saved for last. The order doesn’t make any sense really – the PA just likes to put the spotlight on him. He sees his teammates lined up in front of him, creating a tunnel of high-fives. Liam waits for him at the end to give his ritual chest bump. Harry’s body is buzzing. The crowd is roaring. He thinks he could jump 5 feet in the air, he’s so wound up.

 

_“Andddd number 32… Harryyyyyyy STYYYLLLLESSSS!!”_

 

Harry leaps off the bench, gets fived and slapped across the ass, and jumps 4 feet in the air – close enough – to slam his body against Liam’s. God, he’s so ready to dominate this game. When the team huddles up for a mini pep talk, Harry glances back up at the student section, looking – he’ll hardly admit to himself – for one face in particular. He finally finds the head of feathery brown hair in Funkhauser’s usual spot. Below that, a pair of ocean blue eyes framed by black lashes. Below them, thin pink lips stretched around little white teeth.

 

Harry shakes his head a little. The huddle has broken, and the team is heading back to the bench. _Okay, Louis Tomlinson_ , he thinks, _it’s my turn to impress_.

 

 

\--

 

 

Lafayette was up 14 going into the 4th quarter, but Wentzville made a run to cut the lead to 4. Harry has refused to take a breather since the 1st half. He’ll be on the court to take credit for the win or responsibility for the loss – either way, he wants to bear the burden. Wentzville has the ball on their end with 32 seconds to play.

 

Harry’s man has hardly scored on him all night. He’s just too fast to be fooled by crossover dribbles and too aware to get stuck in a screen or lose him on a back cut. He doesn’t know how many points or rebounds he has himself, but he does know the crowd is going wild for him.

 

With 17 to play, the Wentzville point guard gets the ball to their center in the post. The guy has 4 inches on Lafayette’s big man, and has been overpowering him all night. He scores another easy bucket. Fucking Porter can’t guard anyone.

 

The lead is now 2 with 14 seconds on the clock. Harry inbounds the ball to Liam, who takes it up the court. Coach Platt is calling for the team to eat the clock, but Harry’s not comfortable with such a small point margin. Seriously, they were supposed to be up 25 at the end of the game. He’s pissed off with his team’s lackadaisical play and cocky attitude. He demands the ball from Liam. If Wentzville is going to foul to stop the clock, Harry is going to be the one they put at the line.

 

They do foul Harry, who now has the chance put this game away with 2 free throws. Wentzville’s coach is absolutely livid that his players chose to foul Lafayette’s best free throw shooter.

 

Harry stands just inside the three point line, waiting for both team’s players to take their spots on either side of the lane. He glances up at the time: 7 seconds. He wipes the collar of his jersey across his upper lip, takes a deep breath, and steps up to the foul line.

 

After the ref lets everyone know that there are 2 shots so no one can rebound on the first, he bounces the ball to Harry. The crowd hushes quiet, everyone’s arms thrust into the air in age-old superstitious tradition.

 

He bounces the ball once, spins it in his hand, and lines up his fingers on the marks just how he likes them. Harry bends his knees, tucks his elbows, and releases with the drop of his wrist.

 

 _Swoosh_. The ball falls perfectly through the cylinder. The crowd goes insane.

 

Harry steps off the line again, and tries his hardest not to look in the corner where a pair of deep blue eyes are glued to him _and why the fuck is he thinking about him right now for Christ’s sake_.

 

He takes an extra deep breath this time. _Focus, Harry_ , he begs of himself. _Show him what you can do._

 

His resolve steels – there’s no way he’s going to let himself miss this shot. He feels the pressure crashing down on him, but instead of drowning in it, he absorbs it, letting it fill every sinew, every tissue, every vein.

 

For a split second, an image of a boy singing alone on center stage flashes across his mind.

 

That. That’s who he’ll emulate.

 

The second free throw rips through the net even more perfectly than the first. Harry immediately picks up his man, but reads the inbounder’s eyes. He knows where the pass is going. He times his run perfectly to intercept the ball intended for the Wentzville player. He weaves away from the arms thrust out in attempts to foul him. The buzzer sounds.

 

Lafayette wins the game.

 

Harry gets mobbed by his teammates and coaches. Honestly, though, it’s not like they just won the championship or something. He’s actually really disappointed with how the game went, but a win’s a win.

 

After fist bumping the other team and exchanging “Good games”, Harry looks back over to the corner where Louis stands. He looks a little out of place there, like this is totally not his thing, to be in a mob of hyper-energetic Iron Mans and Hermione Grangers. But in his tight black jeans, black cotton jacket, and The Stone Roses t shirt with half a lemon on it, he looks, quite frankly, like the coolest fucking guy Harry’s ever seen. Maybe he’s a loser for not dressing up for Halloween, or maybe it’s punk rock as hell, Harry doesn’t know. All he knows is Louis – confident, easy, original - astounds him.

 

He hopes he awes Louis a little bit, too.

 

 

\--

 

 

Sienna Davis’ Halloween party is an absolute cesspool of drunken teenagers. Girls with animal ears falling out of their teased hair stumble around the house, while guys with snapbacks and beer stains splashed down their shirts urge each other to chug another Solo cup’s worth of alcohol. _Where are this girl’s parents? I mean, really_ , Harry thinks.

 

Harry was the center of attention when he first arrived, but the lure of booze has long since outshone him. He enjoys being relatively ignored – for once – at the end of the sofa in the Davis’ living room.

 

He’s still annoyed about the way they played tonight. He had 21 points, 9 rebounds, and 7 assists. Those stats are on par with his average from last season, but Harry needs to be better if he wants to bring his team to a championship.

 

He moodily scowls at his phone screen. He’s not having any fun at all. Liam has disappeared into a bedroom with a girl Harry is pretty sure graduated two years ago, and all of his other friends – more like acquaintances – are either smashed or sucking face with somebody. When someone dressed up as a slutty Catholic school girl accidently pours half her drink down the back of his neck, he decides he’s out.

 

Luckily, Sienna Davis lives in Harry’s neighborhood, only 3 blocks away, so he can walk home. His mom knows he parties – he really only started this summer - but he always promises 1. never to let any pictures of him with alcohol appear on social media, and 2. never to have more than 2 drinks. He’s always kept his promise. Since she doesn’t let him drive anywhere because they can’t afford to get Harry a car, drunk driving is never an issue.

 

Harry wanders out the front door without anyone taking notice. He pulls cool October air sharply into his lungs, and thrusts his hands into his hoodie pocket to protect them from the wind. Only a very few trick-or-treaters are still out in the streets. Most houses have turned their porch lights off, with only the glow of streetlamps and jack-o-lanterns lighting Harry’s way. He breathes deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of dead leaves and bark. October is the best month, he thinks.

 

The journey doesn’t take long. Soon he’s quietly passing through his front door with a mind to go straight to bed. On the kitchen table is a note from his mom saying, again, how proud she is of him and that she’s making pancakes for breakfast. Harry has the absolute best mom in the world.

 

After quickly showering and brushing his teeth, Harry climbs into bed utterly exhausted. He one hundred percent intends to fall asleep immediately. But, of course, he has to check his phone one last time.

 

There are notifications on Facebook, more mentions on Twitter, and some texts that can wait until the morning. Harry opens his Messenger app – and would you look at that. At the top of the list is a message from one Louis Tomlinson.

 

Harry taps the message immediately. Forget all that “exhaustion” and “sleep” business. He’s perked right up.

 

_Oct 31 at 11:05 PM_

_Hey Styles ! Wanted to get an interview with you after the game, but i had to take over candy duty so my stepdad could join my mom and sisters. You kicked ass btw_

 

Harry grins unreservedly at his phone. Here, in the privacy of his bedroom, he doesn’t have to worry about how weird it is that he responds to Louis in this way. He’s just really excited about making a new friend. Is that such a crime?

 

He notes that Louis’ message was sent only 20 minutes ago. Messenger lists him as active 3 minutes ago. Harry types out a quick reply.

 

**_Thanks Tomlinson. I’ll do an interview right now. Ask me anything._ **

 

Is he laying it on too thick? Does he sound too desperate to solidify this friendship? He rolls over onto his stomach, chin propped up on a pillow encircled by his arms, and stares at his phone screen anxiously. His hair is dripping water down his neck, wetting his pillowcase slightly.

 

The little blue dot next to his message disappears. An ellipsis icon starts bouncing next to Louis’ miniature picture. Harry waits not very patiently.

 

_Lookie here, its mr basketball. What’s up man ?_

 

**_This is the least professional interview I’ve ever been a part of. That’s really your first question? I’m in bed._ **

_Hey, don’t hate. First time here_

**_That wasn’t a question at all._ **

_Jeez fine Styles. Coming right up_

_Tell me what was going through your head when you stepped up to the line for those final two free throws ? How were you able to put them away ?_

Shit, if Louis only knew what really was going through his head before his last shot. He’s asked him the one question about the game that he couldn’t possibly answer truthfully. Harry chooses to respond only to the second question.

 

**_I’ve just always performed best under pressure. The team needed me to hit those shots, so I did._ **

 

Harry didn’t know how else to explain it. How does an opera singer hit the perfect high note? How does a marksman hit his target? They just do.

 

_Are you happy with the team’s performance tonight in your season opener ?_

**_To be honest, I don’t think we played half as good as we are. Myself especially. But it was a good wake up call. If we want to go all the way this season, we have to give 100% at every moment. We’re happy that we came away with a win though._ **

****

_Don’t you sound like a professional._

**_It’s not so difficult. For some people._ **

****

_You’re such a shit._

**_Stop antagonizing your interviewee._ **

****

_Haha, wee._

**_Omg, you’re an idiot. I’m friends with an idiot._ **

****

_Ok, one more question and then I’ll deal with that comment. What should fans expect from the season going forward ?_

**_Can’t wait. Fans should expect high energy basketball, discipline, effort, and a hell of an entertaining show._ **

****

_Hahaha omg it’s like you’re Dick Vitale or some shit. Who even are you ??_

Harry’s face fucking hurts from smiling so hard.

 

**_Didn’t you know? I’m number 32… Harryyyyy Stylesssss_ **

_Give it a rest. There are enough people kissing your ass, you dont have to join in_

 

He hopes Louis doesn’t think he’s actually cocky. He works incredibly hard to be good at basketball. Cocky people think skill and success will just come to them without earning it. He doesn’t want Louis to label him as that kind of person.

 

**_Honestly, I really don’t think I played that well. Idk._ **

_Seriously man you were great. Whole place was jumping_

 

Before Harry can tap out a reply, another message comes in.

 

_I suspect your performance had something to do with your death metal pregame warm-up_

**_Please. Metallica is not death metal._ **

****

_You are the dudiest dude sometimes. A basketball-playing Metallica fan really ??_

**_They’re actually a fantastic band. Count the Grammys_ **

****

_I would, but i can’t hear bc they broke my ears_

**_That doesn’t even make sense. Sorry but Bruno Mars doesn’t exactly get me amped to play basketball._ **

****

_Whatttt !! Uptown funk could totally pump a guy up. That song is the truth_

Harry is giggling into his pillowcase, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Who is this boy and where did he come from?

 

**_You may have a point. So, I’m a musical genius, as you can see._ **

****

_You have playlists for the weirdest shit. “Drive to Vergennes” ? The fuck is that ? Who even goes to Vergennes ?_

**_Dude, there’s somethign about that drive. Those songs aree perfet for it_ **

****

His eyelids are becoming heavy. He doesn’t want to say he needs to go, though.

 

**_Wahtevver_ **

_You ok over there lol_

**_Cant keep m eyes open_ **

****

_Hey man get some rest. We’ll talk later_

Harry really can’t fight sleep anymore.

****

**_K_ **

****

**_Thanks Lou_ **

****

_Later Haz_

 

Harry’s head collapses into his pillow, and his phone topples onto his hands folded above him. Louis has a nickname for him. They’re definitely friends.

 

He sleeps soundly.


	6. Feeling Impulsive

Scalding hot water crashes over Louis’ shoulders. Steam billows around his body, filling up the shower stall, making the air thick in his lungs. His shaggy hair is gathered in clumps hanging down from his bowed head, dropping large beads onto the tops of his feet. The sound of the rushing water drowns out his thoughts.

 

He has one hand propped against the cool tile wall in front of him, slick with condensation. His other hand slides warm and desperate along the length of his hard cock.

 

…Harry pushing back sweaty curls from his green eyes and flushed cheeks… Harry leaping for a rebound, muscles tight with exertion… Harry with legs spread obscenely wide on the bench, squirting Gatorade into his open mouth… Harry wiping perspiration from his bright red lips before sinking a free throw…

 

The images spin madly in front of Louis’ eyes, conjured up by his brain as quickly as he can remember them. He’s never witnessed that level of confidence before. That degree of charisma and dominance and… _je ne sais quoi_.

 

Harry in his element was the single hottest thing Louis has ever seen. And he doesn’t ever want to get it out of his mind.

 

He bites back a moan as he thrusts his cock into his fist, finding his release and coming hard. He shudders a little as he drifts back down to earth and tries to regulate his breathing. He’s satisfied but not sated. He still hasn’t been able to get rid of the edge that’s been there – in his brain, his body, his emotions – since his encounter with Harry in the weight room. It’s so frustrating, but weirdly electrifying. It drives him crazy in the best and worst ways.

 

Louis cleans himself up and stays in the shower a few minutes longer than he normally would. He stands aimlessly beneath the stream trying to sort out his thoughts.

 

He has a crush on Harry. He’s not even going to try to deny that anymore. But what does his crush mean? Will it pass, as crushes often do? It’s going to have to, Louis thinks, because it’s obviously never going to amount to anything.

 

Even as he tells himself this, though, he’s reminded of his interactions with Harry. They’ve had, what, four conversations? In the first one, he made the younger boy laugh like a little kid. Unreservedly. It made Louis’ heart sing. Harry was adorably eager for Louis to get to know his musical personality in their second and third encounters, and openly praised his audition performance. And there’s no denying that what happened last night was flirty. Wasn’t it? Louis compares conversations with Harry to conversations with Niall or Stan or any other guy. He makes fun of all of his friends, but he teases Harry. He has a laugh with all of his friends, but he giggles with Harry. He’s happy to see all of his friends, but when he locks eyes with Harry…it’s like every inch of his body and synapse of his brain stands to attention.

 

Yeah, he has a crush. Big time.

 

And - he’s so afraid to think it and end up completely mistaken - he’s pretty sure Harry flirts back. But it’s impossible to be sure, since Louis has almost no frame of reference to gauge how Harry acts around other people.

 

He shuts off the shower, and wraps himself in his favorite fluffy towel. There’s only one way forward.

 

He gives himself a mission: get to know Harry Styles.

 

 

\--

 

 

Nov 1 at 11:37 AM

 

_Thanks for the interview last night . Workin on a great feature story about how Jeff Harrison was game mvp_

 

5 minutes, 14 seconds later (not that Louis was counting)…

 

**_Ugh I hate that jackass. Make sure you say how he did a really good job keeping my seat warm on the bench._ **

 

To be perfectly honest, arrogant basketball star Harry really turns Louis on.

 

_Will do. Whats up ?_

 

**_Lying on my living room floor in a pancake coma. For the past hour and a half._ **

****

_Do you have a playlist for that?_

**_No.. But I should. Great idea :)_ **

****

Smiley face. Louis wonders what to make of that. God, it’s so hard to read people over phone messages…

 

_Any songs off the top of your head ?_

**_Let’s see_ **

****

**_Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Deep Blue Something_ **

****

**_Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast by Pink Floyd_ **

****

**_Breakfast by Kreayshawn and 2 Chainz_ **

****

**_Want me to keep going?_ **

****

The messages all pop up on his phone in rapid fire. Once again, Louis wonders, who the fuck is this person?

 

_Haha wow. You’re a massive nerd, you know that? But are any of those songs about pancakes specifically ??_

**_You’ll have to listen to the playlist to find out._ **

****

Louis pauses for a second. He opens up his Spotify app to find that his suspicion is confirmed: Harry has _already_ started a playlist entitled “Pancake Coma”. Unbelievable.

 

_Yeah we’ll see about that_

**_So what’s up there?_ **

****

_Literally nothing_

**_Literally? You have to be doing something_ **

****

_Omg are you 9? Like talking to my little sisters._

_I am breathing and sitting. Happy?_

**_Nope. Sounds boring as hell man_ **

****

_Yup I know. Any suggestions?_

**_Well_ **

****

And then there’s a pause in the conversation. Louis sees the bouncing ellipsis appear and disappear next to Harry’s picture 4 times. The suspense is driving him absolutely mad.

 

_Well? Spit it out then_

**_Well. I was going to see if you’d go to the gym with me. To shoot around._ **

****

Holy shit. Louis feels his heart skip a beat and then quicken. His brain feels too fuzzy when he rereads the words lighting up his phone screen. Alone time with Harry. At Harry’s request.

 

But fuck. Louis hates basketball. Ugh, what should he do? Embarrass himself, or say no to the cherub-faced heart throb that he’s been jacking off to for the past 5 days? Okay, it’s easy when he puts it that way.

 

_Sure man. I mean i suck at basketball but i can come_

 

Doesn’t he have Liam Payne or some other guy he could shoot around with? Why Louis?

 

**_I just need a rebounder. I’ll bring snacks :D_ **

 

Louis cannot say no to this gorgeous boy.

 

_You’d fucking better. What time ?_

**_Like half an hour? Could you give me a ride?_ **

 

Ok, seriously, did Louis win the lottery or something? This could not have worked out better for him. He’s buzzing even though a knot of nerves is bundling up in his belly.

 

_Sure no problem. Gimme your address_

 

Harry sends his address to Louis, who assures him that he’ll be there in half an hour’s time. Once he locks his phone, he takes a moment to inhale a deep breath and silently freak the fuck out. What should he wear? What does this mean? Does Harry like him? ‘Like him’ like him? _What the hell should he wear?_

 

Louis pulls himself together - to the extent that he can because for fuck’s sake this feels like a defining moment in the making. He pulls on and rips off 5 different outfit combinations before settling on gray sweatpants and a charcoal gray t shirt under a navy hoodie. He slips on his training shoes, brushes his teeth meticulously, and attempts to style his wayward hair into something presentable. Eventually giving up, he thrusts a maroon beanie onto his head to make due.

 

After telling his mom where he’s going (she seems surprised at first but shrugs it off because Louis’ mom is an angel like that), he gets in his car and heads out.

 

Louis is familiar with where Harry’s neighborhood is – it’s only a 10 minute drive or a 20 minute walk from Louis’ house.

 

By the time he pulls up in the driveway of Harry’s quaint brick home, he’s lightheaded with nerves. They’ve been alone together before, but not quite like this. This time feels different.

 

His heart beats too faintly in his chest as he watches Harry’s front door, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

 

Finally the door cracks open and the younger lad ambles out in black sweatpants, a white t shirt, and a light gray zip up hoodie. The fingers of one hand are hooked into the backs of his basketball shoes, which dangle by the side of his leg. The other hand clutches a plastic grocery bag. The grin on Harry’s face mirrors Louis’ own.

 

He slips into the passenger seat, stretching out his long legs, and looks over at Louis with a smile. “Thanks for the ride. And for doing this.”

 

Louis takes the next 0.43 seconds just to appreciate fully how gorgeous Harry is. Up close like this, with the small space of the car trapping in his fresh soapy smell and their proximity making Louis imagine that he can feel the warmth radiate off Harry’s body, it’s hard to concentrate on just the boy’s face. Except that’s all Louis can concentrate on. A dimple is poked into Harry’s cheek, his lips curled unevenly in a smile. His milky skin glows a little in the light of the overcast sky. And his eyes – such an intense, dreamy green – glint and glimmer at Louis, parading all of Harry’s charm in their depths.

 

He huffs out a breath. He thinks he’s falling and he’ll never hit the ground again.

 

“No problem. I’m glad you asked.” He looks at the grocery bag. “Oo, what’ve you got for us?” Food will never go unnoticed by Louis Tomlinson.

 

“Um, Sour Punch Straws. Gushers. And… Doritos.”

 

“You are _amazing_.”

 

Harry grins once more, clearly proud of himself. Louis will do whatever it takes to keep that smile permanently affixed to the younger boy’s face.

 

Their conversation on the way to the Lafayette gym is mostly regular. They come up with a few more breakfast songs for Harry’s playlist and debate which is the better meal, pancakes or waffles. The edge that keeps bugging Louis is still there, though, and it feels as if both boys aren’t quite sure how they should act.

 

“Why’d you ask me to come with you and not one of the guys from the team?” Louis blurts out as they pull into the gym parking lot. He tried to sound conversational, but he’s afraid he just made it weird.

 

Harry looks out his window away from the older boy.

 

“Dunno. Can’t talk to them about food music.”

 

Louis parks the car and looks at the back of Harry’s head, still turned away from him. He decides not to push it any further.

 

They enter the backdoor to the gym – the one that leads to the hallway with the weight room and locker rooms – after Harry taps in the passcode on the keypad above the handle. Louis watches surreptitiously over his shoulder, memorizing the number. He’ll store that information away for some possible future shenanigans. Such as a senior prank.

 

The gym echoes in its emptiness, loudly reverberating what little noise the boys’ steps make as they walk onto the hardwood. Harry moves around in the space like it’s second nature, grabbing a couple of basketballs from the store room before he sits down to swap his Vans for his basketball shoes.

 

Louis taps at one of the balls with his toe, itching to use it as soccer equipment. Harry swats at the older boy’s ankle.

 

“Cut it out. We’ll have none of that today.”

 

Louis grins mischievously.

 

“What, this?” He flicks the ball up onto his toe, bouncing it two, three times before scooping it over his head to catch it on the back of his raised right ankle. From there, he sends it back over his shoulder, settles it on his left knee, and lets the ball drop into the crook of his left foot.

 

Harry watches the sequence with wide eyes. Louis smirks smugly. He’s impressed him again.

 

The younger boy then frowns and pouts his lips a little. “I said cut it out, Pelé.”

 

Louis chuckles at this. “All right, well, let’s see what you got. MJ.”

 

They manage to chat casually as Harry shoots around. Sometimes he practices shots off the dribble. Sometimes he asks Louis to set him up with a leading pass. At one point they embark on a game of PIG that quickly falls apart as the attempts get more and more ridiculous. When Louis kicks in a shot from the top of the key, Harry forfeits, claiming Louis has disgraced the entire game of basketball.

 

After 40 minutes of shooting, rebounding, and arguing about whether basketball or soccer is more entertaining (Louis loves these little play arguments they have, by the way), the younger boy decides it’s time to work on free throws.

 

He unzips his cotton jacket and tosses it to the base of the wall behind the basket, shaking out his curls in the process.

 

Louis licks his lips. And stares.

 

Harry’s white cutoff t shirt is clinging to the sweat on his chest, shoulders, and back. It’s basically become see-through with dampness. Louis can make out the muscular planes of his abdomen, the hard mounds of his pecs, and the strain of his peaked nipples against the fabric. _Fucking hell_ , he’s hot. Louis doesn’t notice that his jaw has dropped open slightly.

 

The younger boy goes on with his routine of taking a deep breath and stepping up to the foul line. Louis’ mouth goes dry as he takes Harry in. From underneath the basket, he gets a perfect look at how his large hands grip the ball, how the light spills across his Adam’s apple when he looks up at the rim, how his jaw cuts a sharp corner where it meets his neck.

 

He watches greedily, guiltily. Louis tries not to look at Harry like he’s a piece of meat, but for fuck’s sake. When his eyes drift down to the strip of flesh across Harry’s lower belly that is exposed when he lifts his arms to shoot, Louis feels his dick twitch in his sweatpants.

 

It’s not all physical, he reasons with himself. He actually loves Harry’s dorky ass personality. He’s so easy to tease and to laugh with. Harry makes him feel truly noticed when he directs his steady gaze right at Louis when he talks. He engages Louis in a way that other people don’t. The room could be on fire, and he wouldn’t even notice when he’s in Harry’s presence.

 

No, just because Louis wants to see that pretty mouth around his cock does not mean that Louis is objectifying Harry. He’s pretty far gone for the entire package.

 

“The parts for the musical are gonna be listed tomorrow, right?”

 

Harry’s question shakes Louis from his wayward thoughts. Fuck. He’d forgotten to be nervous about that. Harry causes him to forget a lot of things.

 

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me, dickhead.”

 

Harry just smirks in response and shakes his head. “You know you got the part.”

 

Louis looks at the ground, scratching the back of his neck. Harry’s free throw swooshes through the net and falls to the floor below it. After a moment, Harry realizes the older boy isn’t going to get the rebound, so he walks forward to pick up the ball. Louis looks up at him, chewing the inside corner of his lip, an anxious expression clouding his features.

 

“You really think so?”

 

Harry sets the ball to the ground and takes another step forward, squarely himself up in front of Louis, his arms crossed.

 

“Do you have any idea how good you sounded? You lit up the whole stage, man.”

 

Louis can’t think over the buzzing noise in his ears and the waves crashing in his brain. He simply stares at Harry, locking blue eyes with green ones. _Shit he’s tall. When did he get… so much close…r to me?_ Even Louis’ _thoughts_ are incoherent.

 

“I’ve never heard anything like you before…” Harry murmurs, his gaze unfaltering. Louis watches his lips brush together gently to form the words. The younger boy’s deep voice drowns out his pounding heart.

 

Louis swallows. Without thinking, as if in a trance, he takes a large stride forward, closing the distance between them.

 

 _Fuck it_.

 

He places his hands around the tops of Harry’s arms and presses his lips to his.

 

For a moment – an eternity and a millisecond at once – nothing exists in the world but Harry’s lips. Plump, soft, and warm, they fix into the grooves between Louis’. He smells the salt of his sweat rather than tastes it. Their noses graze lightly together; it’s almost ticklish. And god, Harry’s lips feel so _right_ against his.

 

Then, in an instant, Louis realizes what he’s done and pushes himself away.

 

 _Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck_. What the fuck was he thinking?

 

He dares to look up at Harry.

 

The younger boy blinks slowly several times, his mouth open in astonishment.

 

Then after a beat, his face contorts.

 

He looks terrified.

 

And also angry.


	7. Feeling Guilty

Harry bursts through the door that leads to the gym parking lot. He walks swiftly, purposefully. After what just happened in there, he is not turning back. Ever.

 

“Louis!” he shouts. “Louis, wait!”

 

The older boy is already climbing into the driver’s seat of his car and slamming the door. Harry quickens his pace. The pristine tread on his basketball shoes crunches against the pavement. Early November air whistles icily against his sweaty skin, making his muscles tighten. As if he wasn’t tense enough already.

 

“Louis, please stop, please!”

 

He skids to a halt next to Louis’ window. What he sees inside the car is heart-wrenching.

 

The boy’s head is propped against his steering wheel. His eyes are closed and moist around the edges, his hands resting limply in his lap. Every angle of his body screams of sadness and defeat.

 

He looks like he just learned of a death. Like he lost a loved one. Like they died because of him.

 

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

 

But he knows that nothing should make Louis look this way. Cheerful, mischievous, charismatic, glowing Louis should never look like a ghost, like the light within him has been cruelly stolen away. The slump of his shoulders and the way he’s curving in on himself… Harry panics that his Louis might be slipping through his fingers, never to come back again.

 

His Louis.

 

His Louis?

 

He presses both palms against the glass, leaning down so that his face is more level with the older boy’s. Louis does not look up from the steering wheel. His eyes are clamped shut with pain and regret.

 

“Louis, I know you can hear me. Look, how am I gonna get home if you just leave me here?”

 

He only squeezes his eyes tighter, a shudder rolling over his body. The warm sweat of Harry’s palms leaves a steamy outline of handprints on the window. With furrowed brow, he stares determinedly into the car.

 

“Please, Louis? You can’t just do this to me and leave.”

 

To his surprise, the older boy slides his head to the side, still drooped against the steering wheel, to look through the glass at Harry. He looks so helpless. Several emotions flicker across his face, most of them Harry doesn’t have time to identify. He settles on a look of guilt and responsibility.

 

Letting out a huff of air, Louis simply nods his head slightly. Harry quickly hurries around the front of the car to the passenger door and climbs inside.

 

He glues his eyes to the side of Louis’ head, waiting for him to speak first.

 

Harry doesn’t know what to say or do. His mind can barely even register what happened. He should feel disgusted, betrayed – violated, even. But he can’t feel anything through the hurricane that rages inside his brain.

 

He’s so scared and so nervous. That’s all he knows.

 

After several moments in which Harry’s panic multiplies, his brain going fuzzy with anxiety, Louis finally moves.

 

He sits up straight, sighing a deep, weighty breath. He lifts his eyes up to the roof of the car as if in supplication, begging some god for guidance or forgiveness or mercy.

 

Harry watches and waits on needles and pins.

 

The older boy turns toward him. He’s broken – there’s no other word for it. A look of pure guilt distorts his Hollywood playboy features, like he’s crumpling under the weight of his thoughts.

 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. So sorry. I can’t imagine what you think of me. How disgusted you must be.” His rugged voice cracks into the deafening silence of the car. He clenches his jaw in self-loathing.

 

Disgusted? He should be, shouldn’t he? Since it happened, Harry’s been waiting for the nausea to kick in, the revulsion, the contempt.

 

But as he witnesses what’s happening to his best friend – because that’s what Louis has become in this short period of time – he can’t feel anything but pity and worry.

 

 _Someone turn the light back on_ , he thinks desperately. _Make him light up again!_

 

Harry realizes his brain is talking to himself.

 

“I’m not disgusted,” Harry’s voice comes out huskily – he’s been holding his breath. He clears his throat, and begins again. “I’m not disgusted. You’re my best friend.” Louis frowns deeply at this, the pain amplified on his face, but Harry continues bravely, “I’m sort of freaking out and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think… But I’m not mad at you.”

 

He had felt mad at first. He was angry with Louis, but not for kissing him. He couldn’t understand or explain the source of his anger in the moment after Louis pulled his lips away from Harry’s. It’s all so fucking confusing.

 

Louis scoffs harshly. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A best friend would never do that to you. I’m so _fucked up_!” He nearly shouts the last words through his clenched teeth, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Harry panics even more.

 

“You’re not, um… Listen, you’re not fucked up, okay? I just… I’m really confused, Louis. I don’t know what’s going on. Help me,” Harry pleads. He’s just beginning to comprehend how frantic he is for guidance. He can’t figure this out on his own, and he’s looking to the one person that he trusts – deeply, with inexplicable ease – to be his lighthouse in this storm.

 

The older boy stares back at him with pleading desperation. Harry doesn’t get it. Louis’s eyes are begging him, or himself, for something. He looks afraid to believe he’s awake.

 

But just as his features soften, and he looks like he’s about to give in, to forgive himself…

 

Louis’ face steels.

 

No. Harry has seen a shadow of that look before, in the hallway after his audition. That cold, withdrawn, hard look.

 

He’s locking himself away.

 

_No, that can’t happen…_

 

“No. No, Harry. I can’t help you. I’m the problem. I’m the reason you look scared as fuck right now. I’m the reason you’re afraid to even be in this car with me,” he snarls, turning his face away to his window. Every muscle in Louis’ body is tense with emotion. Harry can just make out a tear at the corner of his eye, contrasted with the fury in his features.

 

How can he convince the older boy that he doesn’t need to hate himself for what happened? And why can’t Louis see how badly Harry needs him, his support?

 

“I’m sorry. I can see I’m making you uncomfortable. Can you just take me home?”

 

Louis whips his head around in shock. He looks even more pissed now.

 

“Me? Me uncomf… Harry, what the fuck. It’s you. I should be apologizing to you.” He’s yelling at the younger boy, as if Harry’s words were insulting. At least he’s not the cold, closed off boy from before, he thinks. “I am. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Just take me home.”

 

The energy of Louis’ bewilderment, which had momentarily brought him back to life, is sapped from his body as quickly as it came. He crumples in front of Harry’s eyes. Harry simply stares back at him. _Louis is going to be reasonable about this_ , he thinks. _He fucking kissed me, I’m confused as shit, and I am NOT letting him abandon me to deal with it myself._

 

After a moment, Louis nods and puts his keys into the ignition.

 

In silence, they drive back to Harry’s house. He didn’t even get his other shoes and jacket from the gym. He can’t ask Louis to take him back now, though. He’ll just get them tomorrow before school.

 

Louis seems to be in a completely different world. Or hell. It’s not clear which. Throughout the drive his self-loathing at least seems to abate to morose thoughtfulness. In the few glances Harry spares him, he tracks the slow, quiet progress of tears down the older boy’s cheeks. _Be brave!_ Harry mentally begs of Louis. _I don’t know how to be brave on my own_. _Without you_.

 

They pull into Harry’s driveway. All of the buzzing joy and playful banter from before hits hard on his memory. The atmosphere couldn’t be more contrary now.

 

The younger boy wonders whether he’s lost Louis before he even really had him.

 

Louis doesn’t even put the car in park. He just waits with his foot on the brake, staring straight out the windshield.

 

Harry still has no clue what he should do. He’s a little pissed at the older boy for kissing him and then not being open to helping them figure out what happened and what it means. He’s always approached challenges with confidence and courage. Louis seems like he’d rather walk away from the fight before it’s even begun.

 

Maybe they aren’t friends like he thought.

 

He clears his throat softly and looks down at his feet. It gives him something to say, at least.

 

“You can keep the snacks.” He nudges the grocery bad with the side of his shoe. “I brought them for you, anyway. I’m on a special diet for basketball.”

 

Some emotion flashes over Louis’ face. He glances over at Harry, but quickly turns to face forward again.

 

“Right. So. It might take me some time for me to figure this out.”

 

No response, other than the tightening of Louis’ fists on the wheel.

 

“I hope you can respect that.”

 

Finally, Harry elicits a reaction from the other boy. Louis slowly turns back to him, looking at him carefully. His tremulous gaze measures him up… memorizes him, even.

 

His voice is utterly serious when he looks Harry in the eye. “Of course I can respect that, Harry. _Of course_.” The younger boy thinks he means something more. Maybe something about Harry as a person. It’s impossible to tell.

 

He mumbles a quiet “thanks” before cracking open his door and slipping out of his seat. He’s so cold – he hadn’t even noticed he’s been shivering. It feels like warmth and light have taken a leave of absence from the world.

 

Just before he closes the passenger door, Harry thinks he hears the other boy’s breath hitch.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Louis cries. And cries. And cries.

 

He had blindly pulled out of the driveway, barely able to contain his sob when Harry had pushed the car door shut. He had driven off aimlessly, with the sole objective of putting as much distance as possible between himself the confused boy with the fearful face and happy brick house.

 

With clouded vision, he had pulled into some dilapidated parking lot off the highway – an abandoned dealership – where he let his emotions overtake him.

 

He cries for what he did to Harry. What he selfishly took from him.

 

Every time he closes his eyes, the same terrified green orbs appear behind his lids, wide with surprise and confusion and panic. He squeezes his eyes tighter, trying to make the image disappear, but it only becomes clearer.

 

He cries for what he ruined.

 

This 16 year old boy had trusted him. He’d recklessly opened up his quirky universe to Louis, the surface of which he was only starting to scratch. It can’t be easy to be offbeat and original when everyone is trying to shove you into a box. He’d bravely asked him as a friend to hang out for the afternoon, and as a predator, Louis had taken advantage of him. They had barely gotten to know each other and Harry already called Louis his _best friend_. How lonely was this boy before they met in the weight room? How awful was Louis for letting him down?

 

He cries for what he is.

 

Any other boy in their entire fucking school could have gone to that gym with Harry today and been fucking normal. They could have joked with him, chatted with him, hell, even ridiculed him, and it would have been _normal behavior_. But Louis just had to be queer. He had to fantasize about fucking boys. Charming, innocent boys who just wanted a friend.

 

_“You’re my best friend.”_

 

Harry had trusted Louis, and Louis stole from him. Sweet, innocent, original Harry.

 

How could he be so selfish? So out of control?

 

Louis’ eyes, puffy and red, burn from their overuse. He scrubs them with the heels of his palms, wiping a swathe of tears over his cheekbones. He throws his head back against the seat rest and blinks up at the roof of the car.

 

_“Help me.”_

 

Harry had wanted _Louis’_ help. That’s how fucking good he was. He thought Louis was the person who could help him when Louis was the one who betrayed his trust. He’d shown so much faith in him to be his beacon of guidance. Louis’ self-hatred flares again. _Why couldn’t you have just left him alone? Weren’t your sick fucking fantasies enough for you? The poor kid feels sorry for you, and he doesn’t even know what you do to him in your mind. You’re disgusting_.

 

Louis doesn’t want to be himself. He doesn’t want to be 18 and gay and in the closet. He’d be anyone else in the world.

 

Just not the boy who selfishly took from Harry Styles.


	8. Feeling Brave

The next week passes in silence between Louis and Harry.

 

Louis got the part of Danny Zuko, but he can’t bring himself to feel properly excited. He thinks of the praise he once received on his singing, and guilt washes over him afresh, for the thousandth time. _He was so nice to you and you fucked it all up_.

 

Preparation has begun for the musical – just line-reading and discussions about choreography and set design. Louis tries to throw himself into the process, and it almost works. Sometimes he forgets to miss the piece of his everyday life that had only recently become the crowning feature of it. But the edge Harry always gave him had been replaced with a gaping hole, frayed and torn around the rim, still raw from the blow that created it.

 

He sees the younger boy in the hallways some days – a mop of curls disappearing behind a corner, a dimple flashing in his periphery. Louis devoutly keeps his distance, though. He’ll do anything, sacrifice anything, to keep that look of fear he so vividly remembers from appearing on Harry’s face ever again.

 

There have been longer glimpses, though. Every day this week in the cafeteria, in fact, the boys have locked eyes at some point over lunch. Lingering stares across tables, through a sea of bodies. Gazes held without word, without explanation. Louis regrets the way they scrutinize each other from a distance, but he indulges because it keeps his guilt from subsiding. He grafts his memory of Harry’s eyes after he kissed him over the green eyes holding his across the room, and remembers his transgression.

 

And when he goes home at night, he doesn’t look at Harry’s Facebook. He doesn’t browse his Spotify playlists. He doesn’t make himself active on Messenger.

 

He doesn’t say a word.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Ever since Sunday, Harry’s played like shit at practice. The entire team and coaching staff are frustrated with him. Even Liam finds it hard to hold back his annoyance when Harry lets yet another pass slip through his fingers and sail into the hands of the defense.

 

It doesn’t help that the defender guarding Harry at practice is Jeff Fucker Harrison. The burly senior has taken to taunting Harry in the locker room before and after practice, in the hallways, in the parking lot. He doles out snide reminders that he always knew Harry would choke, that Harry’s starting spot is in jeopardy, that Harry is going to be watching him from the bench for the rest of the season.

 

Harry doesn’t need some fuckhead like Jeff Harrison making life more complicated right now.

 

But the bastard must have some kind of vulnerability radar, because he chooses this Friday to broach the one subject that very recently has become the most sensitive to Harry.

 

Lafayette plays Whitney Brown Prep on the road tomorrow, so the day’s practice ends with some remarks on scouting, defensive matchups, how to capitalize on offense, and other strategies.

 

But when Coach Platt reminds Harry to guard Whitney Brown’s shooting guard “tight – no mercy,” Jeff Fucker Harrison makes sure the sophomore can hear his ensuing malicious remark, delivered under his breath to their nearby teammates.

 

“Oh, don’t worry, our little faggot Styles here likes his boys tight.”

 

Coach doesn’t hear, but the comment rings clamorously in Harry’s ears. A couple of the other guys chuckle a little, not derisively, but with the ignorant guffaws of high school boys who think gay jokes are obligatorily funny. Harrison takes this as encouragement.

 

“I bet Styles doesn’t take mercy on any asshole he can get his dick next to. Or, do you prefer faggots to put their dicks up your ass? I’m sure that’s what it is.”

 

Harry tenses up, fury rolling off his shoulders, his fingernails cutting into his palms as he clenches his fists. Coach Platt has dismissed practice, and the group is starting to break apart to head toward the locker room.

 

_I will not punch Fucker Harrison. I will not beat his head into the ground. I will not lose my spot on the team. I will not disappoint my mom._

 

Harry chants these words in his mind, eyes closed in an attempt to calm himself. Harrison continues to chuckle as he walks past the younger boy, slamming his shoulder into the back of Harry’s.

 

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and pops his eyes open to stare murderously at the dickhead’s retreating figure. God, how he’d like to shut that asshole up once and for all.

 

It’s not unusual for Harry to stay after practice to work on his shooting, but with the exchange that’s just happened, he especially wants to avoid the locker room today.

 

Is this what it’s come to? He’s going to live in fear of the men’s locker room because he’s been kissed by a boy?

 

Harry begins to feel a bubble of panic building in his chest. Is that what all of them think? That he’s a faggot? That he likes dick up his ass?

 

He’s heard gay slurs from Harrison and others before – every member of the team has been subjected to them at some point. But now, given what’s happened between Harry and Louis, it makes the younger boy more paranoid.

 

If only he had someone to talk to about it. Louis clearly has declined to participate in that role. Every day this week, Harry has tried to silently communicate his thoughts to Louis from across the lunchroom. He would bore his eyes into Louis’ own, thinking _I won’t let you leave me alone in this. Talk to me. Help me. Be my friend_. But Louis would only stare back, expressionless, not seeming to receive Harry’s telepathy.

 

Well, why shouldn’t he be able to read his mind? Is that so unreasonable?

 

With Louis’ stubborn reticence, however, it’s become obvious to Harry that he must seek out another source of comfort.

 

Too bad not 1 in his more than 1,000 online friends is a person he could actually trust with this. He’s always felt a little cut off from his peers. He’s beloved, but not loved. He’s known, but not understood. It was only Louis who, if only briefly, he had let into his publicly private world.

 

Does Louis have friends to talk to about this stuff? Is he even gay, or is he just confused like Harry is? Does anyone know about what happened or about Louis’ sexuality? He probably talks to that guy, Stan, Harry thinks. There was something about their effortless familiarity that had annoyed Harry from the get-go. Stan knew a whole history of Louis that Harry would never be privy to, never be a part of. It was irrational, but it made him extremely jealous. Stan had a part of Louis that Harry could never have. And Louis had Stan – a lifelong companion, a true best friend.

 

He tries not to be bitter about the fact that he offered that level of friendship to Louis and was rejected – scoffed at, actually. Being angry with Louis is neither fruitful nor enjoyable. He needs to be productive.

 

Harry needs someone to talk to.

 

As he shags his own ball after his 15th straight made free throw, an idea comes to him.

 

What about someone else who knows Louis well, but also seems to know what Harry’s life is like, at least as a high school athlete?

 

A blond lad with a friendly face and a ready “hello”.

 

Harry quickly puts the basketball away and gathers his things. He heads toward the detention room on a whim, hoping to get lucky…

 

 

\--

 

 

He didn’t even know that the school administration was allowed to keep students this late after school. And who the fuck is the no-life teacher who agreed to run detention on a Friday?

 

The answer to Harry’s question lies in the generous behind of one Mrs. Hurst, which obstructs his view into the classroom door window. Peering around her massive figure, Harry spots who he’s looking for. Wow, this kid really is a reliable troublemaker.

 

Niall sits in the back of the room – he’s the only student present – balancing a pencil across the bridge of his nose. Once he has it positioned how he wants it, he proceeds to add a second, a third, and a _fourth_ pencil. Clearly, this is something he’s been practicing for a while.

 

Mrs. Hurst, reading some romance novel by the looks of it, slurps noisily from the straw of her 32 ounce soda cup. The sound evidently breaks Niall’s concentration, causing the pencils to tumble into his lap. He throws his hands up in silent protest, giving the teacher a death stare, but she pays him no notice. This is the most pointless detention Harry’s ever witnessed.

 

Looking up, Niall notices Harry’s face in the window and waves to him enthusiastically. Harry knew there was a good reason why he chose to come to the exuberant blond boy.

 

Harry lifts his wrist to the window and taps at it to ask Niall how much time he had left. Niall gives him a thumbs up.

 

“Mrs. Hurst,” Harry hears him call, through the door. “I think my detention is over now.”

 

“Hmmm?” the teacher responds, not looking up from her book. Niall gives Harry two thumbs up.

 

“Yes, so I’ll just be going. I’ve, uh, learned my lesson, and, uh, I promise…I’ll be back next week.” Niall sidles toward the door, hands behind his back in mock innocence.

 

“You can go home now, yes. Your detention is over,” Mrs. Hurst replies, mouth hung half-open, greedily turning to the next page. Harry is thoroughly grossed out.

 

Once Niall exits the room, he gives Harry an emphatic fist bump.

 

“You’re a life saver, man. I shoulda tried that sooner, it was so easy. But I was so bored that I seriously had no reason to leave.”

 

Harry chuckles delightedly, grinning at the naughty lad before him. “What’s the point of that, anyway?”

 

“No point. None at all. Clearly, since I keep having to go back,” he jokes with a devilish wink. “So, what brings you down here? You have practice today?”

 

“Yeah, just got out. Came to talk to you actually.”

 

“Oh, yeah? ‘Bout what? Let’s talk.” And it’s as easy as that. There’s no, ‘Why, we’re not really friends’ or ‘What do you want from me?’ Just an instant response to a basic request. No wonder Louis is friends with this guy.

 

They walk out of the building toward one of the parking lots, but Niall doesn’t seem to be in any rush to leave.

 

“Well, um. Okay, so… So you’re good friends with Louis, right?”

 

“Yeah, man, one of my best mates. Love ‘im.” Harry can’t help the jealousy that surges within him again. It’s different with Niall than Stan, though – more mild. He simply wishes there was any friend in the world who could say the same about him.

 

“Right. Well, like, you know him really well, then?”

 

Niall doesn’t seem suspicious, like Harry thought he would. He’s just genuinely confused about where this conversation is heading.

 

“Yeah, I’d say so…”

 

“Has he said anything to you about me recently?” he blurts out.

 

“Oh, um. Well, like, he said that you guys are friends now. Which is cool. You’ve always seemed like a nice guy.”

 

Harry gives a tight smile at this compliment. He’s happy to have the approval of Louis’ friend. Even if it may mean nothing now.

 

He considers how he’s going to ask Niall whether Louis is gay, but then decides that that is an extremely personal and private question with a personal and private answer that Niall would not likely give Harry, despite how affable he may be.

 

He takes a different tack.

 

“Cool. Yeah, I think we are friends.” Actually, Harry thinks they were friends and now they may not be, which scares him on a level he doesn’t want to examine fully yet. But he spares Niall the precise details. “But, anyway, I wanted to talk to you about…me…I guess.”

 

“Sure, what’s up?”

 

Once again, Harry is astounded at the boy’s friendliness.

 

But he still can’t believe he is going to ask a basic stranger, in the middle of a parking lot, who is best friends with the boy who kissed him and then ran away from him, what he should do about questions of sexuality.

 

He has a hunch that Niall knows about Louis, though, and throwing all caution into the wind, Harry takes a leap of…gut instinct.

 

“Well. Ok, so I know this is weird. And I’m sorry because I know we hardly know each other. I mean I’ve seen you around from when you played soccer and all. And you always seemed like a really good guy. So I’m sorry, but I seriously have no one else to turn to with this…” Niall has begun to look more deeply concerned with the direction of Harry’s speech, but the younger boy plows ahead. “I’ll just spit it out. Do you… Have you ever… Fuck, sorry… I don’t know if you know anyone who’s ever, like, had questions about their…sexuality… and, like, ok. Something happened with me and another person, and, yeah. It’s made me really confused.”

 

Harry is looking everywhere but at Niall. His hands are shoved into his hoodie pocket, eyes abruptly very interested in how his toes are playing with a loose rock. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth while he waits for a response.

 

“Christ. Shit, man. I knew something was up.”

 

Harry’s head snaps up. Niall is absentmindedly scratching his forehead while he processes the information Harry not-so-subtly delivered him. He thinks Niall is on the same page as him.

 

“I just don’t know what to do,” he admits. Suddenly he feels very vulnerable. The person standing in front of him essentially knows that Harry has had an amorous encounter with another boy. He could use that information to ruin him completely at this school. He could tell everyone, he could call him a faggot like all the other guys would… He could tear Harry apart.

 

But he looks at the boy in front of him, and knows his fears have no foundation. Niall wears his heart on his sleeve, and from what Harry can see, it’s pure.

 

“Alright, well, I don’t know what happened.” He looks a little mad or…hurt?…to admit this. “So, if you don’t mind, you’ll have to tell me. I promise you can trust me.”

 

“I know I can. Thanks, man.” And somehow he did know that he could trust Niall. Simple as that.

 

Harry leans against one of the cars. “So, here goes…”


	9. Feeling Chastised

“Hey, what are we doing tonight?”

 

“FIFA. We talked about it at lunch. What, did Hurst blow you so hard you forgot?”

 

“Fuck off. Wanna, like, go out and do something instead?”

 

Louis is concerned for his friend. He _never_ asks to cancel a FIFA night. Something must be seriously wrong.

 

“Are you ill or something? Mentally, I mean,” Louis jokes into the receiver. He can almost hear Niall roll his eyes through the phone.

 

“Why am I even friends with you… Let’s go up Salt Lick Trail and graffiti some shit.”

 

“Very creative, Nialler. No one in this town has _ever_ done that on a Friday night.”

 

“ _God_ , you’re an asshole. You in, or what?”

 

Louis doesn’t have to think about it too hard. It would be nice to get out of his house for one night this week. He’s been moping around, snapping at his sisters and mom for no reason at all. They’ve all been rather startled at his inexplicably sour attitude. Louis has had to make up several imaginary homework projects to avoid the serious conversation with his mother that he knows she wants to have. She keeps giving him that _mom_ look.

 

“Yeah, sure. Why not.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Louis and Niall had climbed up about a mile and a half of a steep, wooded, dirt trail. By the time their muscles really started to protest, the ground began to level out and they could see the trees clearing ahead.

 

Salt Lick Point, as it is known, is the site of a very old cemetery. At the center of the scattering of grubby, misshapen and disintegrating graves is a small mausoleum made from plain gray stones. The small clearing continues until the extreme edge of the bluff on which it rests, providing visitors with an unparalleled view of the river valley below. It is quite stunning, Louis always thought.

 

The boys wade their way past the worn grave markers toward the building. Nearing it, they can begin to make out all of the graffiti that defiles it. Most of it is simple, unembellished script done with spray paint: a Tommy loves Adrianne, some smiley faces, several “fuck”s, and a smattering of other names. The more elaborate designs are much more difficult to decipher. Louis always made a habit out of trying to read graffitied train cars that would whip past on the tracks running parallel to the highway that snakes along the base of the bluff. He’d been continually amazed by their urban beauty and cryptic meanings. The graffiti on the mausoleum is no different. There is something incredibly irreverent about scrawling paint all over a mausoleum, Louis thinks, but at the same time, it is written remembrance. The bright colors and lively shapes return life and liveliness to this dead, empty place.

 

“Did you bring the spray paint?” Niall asks Louis, who has his hands thrust deep into his gray hoodie pocket.

 

“You weren’t serious, were you? I’m not graffitiing anything.”

 

“Nah, just joking. All I know how to draw is a dick and balls, and it looks like someone else has beaten me to it.”

 

Louis laughs a little at his friend and wanders to the front entrance of the mausoleum, where there is a low stone wall that makes for a good seat. Niall joins him on the other side of the door. From here, they can see the scruffy opening of the trees, the sudden falling away of the bluff to give way to an uninterrupted view of the valley. Miles of brown, harvested farmland stretches out before them, impeded only by the heavily wooded beginnings of the river bank near the horizon. The yellow November sun is already rather low in the sky, basking every feature it touches in a warm autumn glow. The evening is cold, but bright.

 

“So why no FIFA? Not that I’m complaining. I’m sick of sitting around my house.”

 

“That’s kind of the point. Why _are_ you moping around your bedroom and hardly talking to me or Perrie and not giving enough of a shit about _Grease_?

 

Jesus Christ, Louis thinks, where did that come from? Niall’s gone and organized some emotional intervention by the looks of it. Had his foul mood been that obvious? Probably. But he just wants to relax on this Friday evening and forget about all the shit that’s plagued him this week. Why does Niall have to go and ruin it?

 

“Don’t give me this shit, man, come on. There’s nothing wrong. I am happy about the musical. I don’t wanna come here and go through your inquisition.”

 

“Hey, stop being a whiny dick for a second. I’m just being your friend.”

 

Louis looks sideways over at his friend. Niall is staring resolutely forward into the low sunlight, a scowl marring his friendly features. Now Louis knows he really is being a dick. Niall doesn’t get mad, like, ever. So he’s been acting like an asshole this week, sure, but what has he done to piss Niall off in particular? If Louis knows his friend, it has to be more than him just behaving like a jackass – he does that all the time.

 

“Sorry,” Louis starts off stubbornly. After a moment, he sighs and continues, “I don’t really want to talk about what’s wrong. It fucking sucks and you’re just gonna yell at me.”

 

Niall turns to face the older boy with a look of fierce patience, if you could call it that. Louis knows what he’s seeing. This is how Niall looks when he’s absolutely determined to solve a problem, to help someone. He’s not leaving this spot until Louis spills all. He heaves another sigh of resignation toward his feet. Louis lifts an eyebrow as he raises his bowed head back up to face the friend on his right, his blue eyes turned bluer and his brown hair turned darker in the dimming light. Niall still looks angry with sun beams spilling across his features. Louis takes a guess.

 

“So, what do you already know?”

 

“Enough. Why I had to hear it from Harry Styles is another question.”

 

Louis’ body tenses. He had assumed that Niall could read from his attitude this week that he was having a boy problem, but he didn’t have the slightest clue that he had gotten the story directly from the horse’s mouth. He begins to panic. What had Harry said to Niall? How had he felt? Does he never want to speak to Louis again? Why did he go to Niall of all people? In the back of his mind, he knows the answer to this last question. _Because Louis had shut Harry out._ But didn’t he have some closer friend he could talk to, and not Louis’ best mate?

 

Louis stares at Niall openmouthed and the younger boy stares back, shoulders squared. He looks angry and a little hurt.

 

“When the fuck did Harry talk to you? Why?”

 

“No. You can get details after you tell me what you needed to tell me all week.”

 

“Come on, Niall, please. I have to know what he said.”

 

The blond boy takes a moment to assess the desperation in Louis’ voice and the supplicant posturing of his body. Thankfully, he takes mercy on his friend.

 

“He said you kissed him. And that he’s confused. And that he doesn’t understand why you won’t talk to him. He’s actually pretty pissed about that part.”

 

Wait a minute - why the fuck would Harry _want_ Louis to talk to him after what happened? It’s beyond obvious why Louis is determined to stay away from him. He stole a kiss from Harry and no longer deserves his friendship. Pretty simple.

 

Louis looks long and guiltily at his friend. Niall is clearly wounded from hearing this news from a stranger rather than his best friend. Can he do _anything_ this week without regretting it?

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says in a small voice. “I just couldn’t get my head around it. I really hate myself, Niall. Fucked everything up.” With self-loathing bitterness in his last words, Louis nudges himself off the low wall and starts pacing back and forth in front of his friend.

 

“He just- He was just so god damn _beguiling_. He stops me from dropping 180 pounds of weights on my throat. He giggles at every other word I say. He’s gorgeous and quirky and sporty, and you _know_ how I am about that. And then…then he said I lit up the stage,” Louis’ voice began loud, reverberating off the wooded rock bluffs, but now it draws smaller. “Did he tell you that? He heard my audition. Came to talk to me after. Said I was really good and they should have given me the part right away. He’s just so fucking sweet and I-”

 

“Louis, come on, stop beating yourself up…”

 

“No, Niall. You wanted to hear what happened. He asked me to rebound for him on Sunday while he shot around. Just straight up invited me into his world like that, can you imagine? And after fucking him with my eyes for half an hour like some pervert, I went and kissed him. You should have seen his face… He was terrified of me…” he trails off, unable to continue through the lump that had developed in his throat. Turning away from Niall, Louis grabs a broken rock off the ground and starts carving away at the wall of the mausoleum. His strokes are angry and harsh, causing the stone to buckle and crumble underneath his force.

 

“Okay, I understand that that’s how you felt it went. But that’s not what Harry told me.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Niall, I know what I saw. He was scared shitless. And why wouldn’t he be?”

 

“Hey, would you listen for a second, you horse’s ass?”

 

Louis simply continues to attack the wall with the sharp rock in his hand. _Scrape, scrape, scrape_ …

 

“Harry didn’t come to me today to tell me that you’re a scary gay predator and he never wants you to touch him again. He didn’t say much about you at all actually.” Louis pauses his movements for a moment, and then returns to taking chunks out of the stone in front of him. “Are you listening, shit head? He came to talk to me about himself and his own sexuality. He’s confused as fuck. That’s all. That’s why he was scared.”

 

Louis casts a cold glower of utter disbelief and impatience toward his friend. It really isn’t helping anything if Niall is going to blatantly lie to him, he thinks.

 

“Please, Niall, there’s no need to lie for him. I’ve seen how he’s completely avoiding me. He doesn’t want to come near me. And he shouldn’t. Because I’m just going to keep wanting him.”

 

“Well that’s very romantic, pal, but at least according to what Harry said, you’ve got this all backwards. He told me you won’t come near him. He said he asked you to help him figure this out? And you refused?”

 

The accusation in Niall’s tone is not lost on Louis. In fact, it’s doubled by the accusations he’s leveling at himself in his mind. He can see Harry’s pleading face before him, hear his quiet request for guidance. Louis had refused because how could the perpetrator possibly guide the victim? But from the moment the younger boy stepped out of his car, Louis had known his own guilt. He’d felt wrong to force Harry to deal with this by himself. He’d created a problem for Harry and left him alone to handle it. How fucked up _is_ he? This is exactly why he’s been avoiding him – he’s much too selfish for Harry Styles.

 

“That’s why he’s so upset, Louis. He’s trying to figure out if he’s gay or straight or curious or whatever, and the one homosexual guy he knows said, nope, I’m not gonna help you. Like, I appreciate your reasons and all, but honestly. How do you kiss the guy and then just peace out?”

 

“Christ, Niall, I get it. I fucked up on every level. We’ve established that. So what does he want me to do about it now? There’s no way I’m going to put myself in a situation to take advantage of him again.”

 

“Okay, enough with the dramatics. You kissed him. You didn’t stick his hand down your pants. And he didn’t exactly say, but I don’t think he minded it. No – listen to me,” Niall interjects when Louis opens his mouth to interrupt. “Just listen, you idiot. Never in our whole conversation did he seem disgusted about what happened, not that that would be a sure sign of how he really feels anyway. He isn’t disgusted, though. He’s just…lost. So lost, actually, that he came to me, who he barely knows, for advice. I don’t think any of his so-called friends are people he can actually open up to, ya know? I mean dudes like Liam Payne – that’s not where he’s gonna find guidance on being gay. Long story short, he doesn’t hate you. He’s sick of you avoiding him. He doesn’t want to shut you out. But I really don’t think he wants to come out of any closets any time soon, either.”

 

Louis ceases his destruction of the mausoleum, resting his empty hand and forehead against the wall. Harry still wants to talk to him. Harry doesn’t find him disgusting. …Maybe he _was_ being too dramatic or hard on himself. He definitely regrets losing control and kissing Harry, but it just bubbled up out of him from nowhere. He said he sings like nothing he’s heard before. How could Louis _not_ kiss him for that? Out of praise and gratitude and sheer thankfulness that he even recognizes Louis for who he is? He shouldn’t have kissed him, and he certainly shouldn’t have run off like a coward. He knows that now.

 

Mulling over Niall’s words and his memories of Sunday, Louis is struck by just how brave Harry had been. Louis abandoned him in that gym, but Harry followed him. Louis locked himself away in his car, but Harry forced him to talk, to stop shutting himself off. Harry got into his car. He trusted Louis to take him home. He even left him those fucking snacks.

 

Harry was ten times braver than Louis had ever been. And Louis had locked himself away.

 

God, he is stupid sometimes.

 

“You okay?” Niall prompts, watching his friend sort things out with a concerned look on his face.

 

“Yeah. Just processing everything, ya know?”

 

“Seriously, Louis, you know you’re not a bad person, right? And I don’t claim to know what I’m talking about when it comes to gay stuff, but Harry has that something about him that I always saw in you. Plus, I think he just really likes you as a friend. Remember how he came up to us after his practice? That’s the sign of someone who wants to get to know you.”

 

Louis couldn’t deny there was some truth to his friend’s words. Harry was so brave and so charming. It’s as obvious as day now.

 

Niall begins to roam around through the graves as the sky grows darker, peering down here and there to read the names on the headstones. Louis turns around to lean his back against the mausoleum. He digs his phone out of his hoodie pocket, searching for something. There are no messages, no notifications. Without questioning why, because he knows why, he opens his Facebook app and navigates to Harry’s profile. As predicted, the most recent post there is from Spotify, showing the music Harry has been listening to recently. It’s all sad, confused, angsty, emo shit. Yeah, Louis has been there before. Regardless of the rift he’s created between himself and the sophomore boy, he continues to feel this tether drawn between them through music. On top of the bluff, in this clearing full of dead souls and rotting bodies and leafless trees, Louis feels an overwhelming need to be close to Harry again. His head rests against “Tommy loves Adrianne”, paint flakes probably dropping into his hair.

 

Harry was brave. Louis can be brave, too.

 

He opens his Messenger app, and types out a short note to Harry.

 

Nov. 6 at 6:41 PM

 

_Harry, I’m sorry I haven’t been talking to you. I feel guilty for that and for a lot of things. I’ve been a bad friend, and I’m so sorry for that._

 

To his overwhelming surprise and relief, he receives a response just two minutes later. It’s even briefer than Louis’ own.

 

 ** _Meet me at the city park basketball court?_** **_We could talk._**

 

Brave Harry. Despite Louis’ recalcitrance and rudeness, he’s ready to see him at a moment’s notice. Louis is only just beginning to understand the profound character of the boy he’s dealing with. He feels guiltier than ever.

_Be there at 7:15_

 

He gets a thumbs up in reply. He can’t decide if it’s a sign of Harry’s displeasure with Louis’ behavior or of his unending quirkiness. He half smiles to himself. He’s got it bad for this boy; there’s no denying it.

 

“All right, let’s go,” Louis calls out to Niall.

 

“What are you talking about? We still need to sort this shit out for you.”

 

“You’ve actually already helped me a ton,” he pauses a beat. “Harry asked me to meet him.”

 

Niall looks mildly surprised for a moment before giving his friend a knowing look. He’s several feet away, almost impossible to see with the November sun gone from the sky. “Sounds about right. Let’s walk back to the car.”

 

Whatever happens at the park, Louis thinks, it’s going to be a defining moment.


	10. Feeling Ready

Harry strides along the sidewalk with his head down and swimming with a thousand thoughts. As soon as he begins to focus on one, his mind jumps to another. He has too much to consider, too much to question, too much to be anxious about. He wishes there was some magical way he could make it all go away and just clear his head. Usually the right music will do that for him, but listening to Hawthorne Heights and Saosin and a load of other emotional crap today hasn’t helped him in the slightest. The music only clouded his brain more, tangling the thread of each thought into one massive, messy ball of _Louis_.

 

And then out of the blue, the bastard has the gall to just message him an apology. It’s not like Harry wasn’t relieved to finally hear from the older boy – he was thrilled. Finally they had spoken to each other, and Louis had been the one to initiate the conversation. That’s exactly what Harry was waiting for. And he was happy that he apologized, because he felt that was warranted, although he wanted to protect Louis from his own guilt for some reason. He didn’t like the senior boy feeling remorseful about something he didn’t think was wrong.

 

It had taken _a lot_ of thinking and music and more thinking and more music for Harry to come to that conclusion. Not from the moment that Louis’ lips touched his to the instant that he received his message did Harry consider what happened between them to be _wrong_. But he kept feeling like he should. He waited and waited for the alarm and revulsion to kick in…but it never came. Harry thought about the slurs he hears in the hallways at school, in the locker room, in just about every heterosexual male conversation. But those sharp words of hate don’t scare him, exactly. They had steeled him. And more than anything, they make him afraid for Louis and what Louis must go through. Seeing him broken and regretful in his car on Sunday had convinced Harry that the older boy was not at all impervious to the social rejection he might experience for being gay.

 

 _Is Louis gay?_ Harry wonders for the hundredth time. Does kissing a boy make you gay, or is it just kissing a boy? Does Louis find him attractive? Does Louis want to…do stuff…with him? What does Harry think about that? He has no idea.

 

He tries not to feel bitter - with the cold, late evening air tousling his curls and biting at his cheeks - about the fact that he may have answers to these questions by now if Louis had just opened up to him and been there for him. But he generously remembers that for all he knows, Louis is dealing with all the same questions that are plaguing him.

 

He hopes that tonight they can work things out together. Whatever it means for their friendship in the future, he would just be happy to have a clearer understanding of what the fuck is going on inside his head. He’s convinced Louis can help him with this.

 

But if he’s being honest, deep within the tenderest part of his heart, Harry is terrified of finding the answers he needs at the sake of losing the older boy’s friendship. Louis _gets_ him. Louis makes him _laugh_. Louis isn’t ignorant or typical or unkind. Harry desperately wants to retain his friendship. He doesn’t really want to know himself apart from Louis. He wants to know himself alongside Louis.

 

And that’s the most terrifying thought of them all.

 

He turns a corner at the end of the block, which will lead him to the city park. It’s not much of an establishment – just a few acres of lawn and trees, a basketball court, two tennis courts, and a decent playground. It’s a place that everyone in Chester has been to at one time or another.

 

Usually occupied by obnoxious preteens who defer to Harry’s claim on the court when they recognize who he is, he’s surprised to find the park virtually empty tonight.

 

He walks over to the basketball court and picks up the poorly inflated ball that always rests in one corner, designated for public use but not subject to public maintenance, apparently. Harry doesn’t feel like playing basketball. It’s merely habit for him to gravitate toward the equipment and grip his fingers around it, feeling the rubber graze against his sensitive fingertips. There’s a small bit of calm to be gleaned from that act.

 

It was 7:12 when he checked his phone a minute ago. Louis should be here any minute. _Louis_. What was he going to say to Harry? More bullshit about how he’s sorry? Is he coming to tell him that they can no longer be friends? Harry grips the ball a little tighter at that thought. He just isn’t going to accept that. If Louis honestly doesn’t enjoy being around Harry, then fine, he’ll leave him alone. But if he wants to pull some martyr crap where he avoids him for Harry’s own good, he’s not letting it happen. Harry doesn’t readily let people make sacrifices for him. Especially not stupid ones that aren’t actually doing him any good.

 

Battling with these thoughts, the same question pops into his head that’s been circling his mind like a vulture for the past week. Harry hasn’t only been wondering whether Louis is gay - he has much more personally fundamental concerns to figure out. In short, is _he_ gay? He, Harry Styles, 16 year old Lafayette sophomore, lover of basketball and music, watcher of comedy movies and Criminal Minds, expert of Monopoly, sometimes wearer of skinny jeans and loose t shirts, devourer of pancakes and quesadillas and Tostitos. _Am I gay?_ He asks himself again and again, as if a fresh answer will follow this time. He never tells himself _yes_ or _no_ or _I don’t know_. His mind merely goes blank at the question. Or rather, it goes cloudy, as if there’s some tyrannical obstruction blocking him from the true answer, and no matter how high he leaps or how low he ducks or how hard he pounds, he can’t get past the obstacle between himself and the reality of his sexuality.

 

Flustered, frustrated, and confused, he doesn’t even hear the soft sound of footsteps padding toward him on the basketball court. Harry thrums his fingers against the basketball in his hands, knocking it gently against his chin as he paces and attempts and fails to sort out his thoughts.

 

Finally he becomes aware of movement in the corner of his right eye and looks up instantly.

 

Louis Tomlinson is standing a few feet away from him. Louis fucking Tomlinson.

 

Clad in trainers, ridiculously soft-looking black sweatpants, and a cozy gray hoodie, Louis Tomlinson, feathery-haired, Louis Tomlinson, blue-eyed, Louis Tomlinson tan-skinned, gazes over at Harry with an unconcealed nervous look.

 

The thousand thoughts in Harry’s head suddenly hide themselves away like coral in a reef. His brain is filled only with _Louis, Louis, Louis_.

 

“Hi,” the older boy offers in a small, rough voice.

 

He wasn’t nervous all week; now Harry can’t feel his legs. _What is this guy doing to me_ , he mentally groans.

 

“Hey,” he coughs out with hardly any breath in his lungs. He pushes his long curls out of his face and straightens up to look at Louis more directly. He tucks the basketball between his right forearm and his hip. He feels like he needs to keep holding onto it, like it is a life raft in this ocean of Louis.

 

The older boy clears his throat, and thrusts his hand back into his hoodie pocket as if he’s willing it to stay put there. “Thanks for offering to meet me here. I really wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Yeah. Me, too. It’s been a while.” Harry lets his voice color faintly with accusation. Judging by Louis’ slight wince at his words, the message gets through.

 

“I know it has, Harry,” he sighs with unmistakable self-disappointment. “I’m really sorry I haven’t talked to you all week. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

 

Harry considers that excuse – hem hem, reason, rather – for a moment. “No… I really did want you to talk to me.” _Remember when I said, “Help me,” you idiot? Yeah, I meant it_ , he thinks at Louis.

 

“I realize that now,” the older boy defends halfheartedly. “Listen, I’m sorry you had to go to Niall. I should have been the one who was there for you, considering I created the problem.”

 

Harry bristles slightly at the word _problem_. He guesses you could call their situation a problem, as long as they both agree that it has a solution.

 

“I’m here now, though, as belated as that is. If you even still want to talk to me,” Louis trails off in a tone of defeat. He keeps shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, not quite able to look Harry in the eye.

 

“Yeah, I mean, that’s why I asked you to come here,” he offers back, stopping himself from tacking _…duh!_ on the end.

 

Louis finally makes solid eye contact with him and stares at him long and hard. He seems to make up his mind about something, his body language signaling his resolve.

 

“Right. So. Do you want to start or should I?”

 

“Well, let’s sit down or something at least. Make ourselves at home,” Harry jokes lamely. Louis smiles tightly, though, so it couldn’t have been too stupid. They walk over to the fence at the end of the court, behind one of the baskets, and seat themselves with their backs against the wire. They are a few feet apart. Harry’s knees are bent in front of him, and he rolls the basketball against the ground gently with his right hand. To his left, Louis is seated with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, fingers worrying away at his cuticles.

 

“I’m going to start,” Harry says. He’s freaked out a little, but something about seeing Louis so anxious makes him calm down for the most part. If it will soothe Louis to get this started, then he will be the one to do it. Plus, he’s not going to let the older boy shoot off some spiel about how they can’t be friends and leave before Harry gets a chance to say his piece.

 

But wow, okay, now that the moment has finally come to sum up his thoughts for the past 6 days, the task seems monumentally impossible.

 

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admits, glancing over at Louis for guidance. It’s frustrating how much he needs him for this. The older boy gazes back kindly and patiently.

 

“Tell me what you were thinking Sunday. After…you know,” he prompts. Harry gauges Louis’ expression. He looks like he’s preparing to receive a punch to the gut or something. He must be expecting the worst…

 

“Okay. So, when that happened… I was mostly just… I just didn’t know what to think. I was surprised more than anything. And then I blink, and you’re gone.” Harry lets the memory spring up before his eyes, and suddenly his thoughts are pouring out of his mouth before he has time to arrange them. “Like, bam, you were out the door. And I’m standing there, like, what the fuck just happened. I was pretty pissed off, to be honest. Who goes and kisses someone and just bolts? That’s kind of fucked up, man. But then I’m like, shit, my best friend is running away from me. Do you know that’s a pretty big deal for me to say? I don’t have best friends. I don’t even have close friends. I just go day by day with these people who think they know me, but they never bother to learn anything about me past my stat sheet and my muscle tone. Liam is the closest friend I have – Liam Payne, d’you know him? – and he’s a good guy and all, but he’s a total meat head. You couldn’t talk to him about feelings if you paid him for it. So, I’m standing there, alone, just kissed by a boy out of the fucking blue, who happens to be the only person in recent memory who has actually attempted to get to know me, and he doesn’t even wanna deal with it.”

 

Harry pauses for a second to assess Louis’ reaction to his ranting. The older boy looks disgruntled and upset, but open to hearing him out. He starts to feel shitty about it, but he presses on. “So then I follow you to your car, and you just- you’re just so shut off. I could hardly get you to look at me or talk to me. And I ask you, I straight up ask you, to help me, and you basically refuse. Now I’m thinking, are you even really my friend? Do you actually even give a shit? And on top of that I can still fucking feel your mouth on mine like you slapped me in the face or something. And I’m wondering, why did you do that? Should I have punched you? Should I be grossed out? Why am I following you to your car? Why am I… Why am I so scared of…you… _leaving_?” _Why can’t I get the feeling of your lips out of my head_ , Harry tacks on in his mind, unable to find the courage to utter the thought aloud.

 

Louis looks at him with a pained grimace. Honestly, he looks like someone has been poking him everywhere with needles. Maybe Harry has done that. His harsh words have pricked away at the older boy. Guilt washes over him. “I’m sorry, Louis. I’m being too harsh and thinking too much about myself. But that’s what I was thinking that day.”

 

“Please don’t apologize anymore, Harry. You have nothing at all to be sorry about.”

 

“Well, neither do you,” Harry cuts him off before he can continue what is sure to be a self-deprecating soliloquy. “No, seriously. I mean you should be sorry about leaving, in my opinion, but I think I get why you did it. You should be sorry about not talking to me for this long, but you already apologized for that. I just want to move forward.”

 

Louis huffs out a big sigh and starts chuckling to himself incredulously. “Do you have any idea how brave you are? It’s like you’re from another planet. I cannot imagine anyone handling this situation as calmly as you have.” He gazes at Harry with…wonder? Disbelief, definitely.

 

It’s absolutely hilarious to him that Louis thinks he’s _calm_. This never-ending swarm of thoughts buzzing through Harry’s mind all week is anything but _calm_. He can only wonder what the hell Louis has been going through that he thinks Harry has it together right now.

 

“I don’t know about brave- ”

 

“No, Harry, listen to me. I thought you hated me. I knew you would. Why wouldn’t you? I violated you selfishly. I didn’t even ask you if I could first, because I knew you’d say no and- ”

 

“Louis, just stop for a second.” The older boy dutifully complies, although he’s clearly straining to hold in the words that want to burst from his lips.

 

“Lou, are you gay?”

 

Harry stares him straight in the eyes. Louis’ blue orbs flash a number of emotions, the muscles of his face strained in panic. He blinks a few times, gazing tremulously back at him.

 

“Yes.” Quiet. Resigned.

 

It’s as though a weight has been lifted off Harry’s chest. _Finally it’s out in the open_. The relief he feels is inexplicable.

 

“And do you…like me…like that?”

 

“Harry, come on, we need to talk more before- ” but Harry doesn’t let him finish. He impulsively throws his long arm across the space between them and presses his hand gently over Louis’ mouth.

 

The shock in the older boy’s eyes is downright comical.

 

His eyebrows shoot up under his bangs, his eyes blown big and round in surprise. His soft lips are entirely still against Harry’s big palm. Maybe he isn’t playing fair, but he just wants to get answers.

 

“Lou, do you like me? Please be honest.”

 

Every muscle in the older boy’s body is completely still. His heart skips a beat, and might even stop for a moment.

 

Very slowly, with eyes still wide, Louis nods his head.

 

And just like that, Harry stops thinking. He stops worrying. He stops guessing.

 

His hand slides of its own accord away from Louis’ mouth to rest tentatively on his cheek. He scoots half the distance to the older boy, and leans his torso over to cover the remaining half.

 

With remarkable deliberateness, Harry moves his face just centimeters from Louis’, who is too stunned to utter a syllable.

 

With a courage that he could never account for, Harry murmurs, “Can I kiss you?”

 

 _Is this what I want?_ Harry asks himself. _Is this who I am?_ He doesn’t have time to answer himself. He doesn’t think he has to.

 

Louis stares back at him with the same incredulous look on his face. He’s mesmerized. As though he’s in a trance, he slowly bobs his head up and down again.

 

“Thank you,” Harry breathes, not even realizing that he said it out loud.

 

He closes the small distance between them, and, with eyes fluttering shut, presses his lips to the older boy’s soft pink ones.

 

Almost instantly, a warm, calming heat spreads through every nerve ending in Harry’s body. He had no plans for tonight to go this way. Two seconds ago, he didn’t know he wanted to kiss Louis or _any_ man for that matter… But fuck what Harry knows. This is what he _wants_ …

 

Louis is as still as stone beneath him. Unbidden, Harry thinks of the way his mouth caressed the lyrics he sang at his audition, lips spreading and jaw tensing to form the words. The image fuels his need.

 

Gently, he slides their mouths together like puzzle pieces and very softly draws his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip.

 

The older boy’s entire body sags as the tension releases from him. _Finally, he reacts_. Hesitantly, Louis cups a hand around Harry’s elbow. The delicate touch of his fingers feels like sparks of electricity on his skin. He digs his fingers a little more firmly into the older boy’s cheek, the tip of his thumb stroking his cheekbone.

 

Drawing his lips back a little to suckle Louis’, he reattaches them with continued gentleness. Louis parts his mouth slightly in response, bringing Harry in, inviting him, asking for more.

 

And just like that, the obstacle in Harry’s psychology is lifted and he knows what he is. Who he is. Who he wants to be.

 

Louis has shown Harry the truth of his very self.


	11. Feeling Thrilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have written to date (Jul-14-2015). Should I keep writing? Do you like it? Let me know!

Louis kisses Harry back.

 

After the shock, the disbelief, the trepidation, everything…he gave in. It’s hard, he realizes, to put up a fight that’s not worth fighting.

 

The incredibly sexy, full lips Louis has dreamed about for weeks are now, of Harry’s own choice, working against his own with tender movements.

 

He can’t fucking begin to process what’s happening. He doesn’t feel like trying.

 

Louis pulls back to get a glimpse of Harry, to be sure that he’s real. The younger boy’s eyebrows pull together in a frown when he breaks their contact, but Louis stays very close to him; their noses still touch. He peeks at Harry’s milky skin, barely an inch away from his gaze, glowing in the white light of the park lamp. He could count the number of pretty dark eyelashes framing his eyes. Their eyes lock, blue with green. Harry’s stare is so honest, so vulnerable. Louis knows exactly who the person is that he sees in front of him. He’s never known someone so unashamedly _himself_.

 

Nuzzling Harry’s nose a little, Louis presses his lips to his once more, open and unafraid, attempting to express silently his overwhelming amazement and pride in the younger boy.

 

Louis won’t be scared anymore. Not after what Harry has done so fearlessly.

 

Harry makes him brave, too.

 

“Harry,” he murmurs against the lips he kisses. “Haz,” he mumbles again with a peck, another peck. “Talk to me.”

 

With a sharp inhale through his nose, Harry allows the kiss to break for good this time.

 

Pulling back and dropping his hand from Louis’ cheek to the crook of his elbow (Louis’ hand still cups Harry’s own elbow), he whispers, “ _That’s_ how it should have happened.”

 

“What, Haz? Tell me.” _Tell me anything_ , Louis thinks, eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s. _Tell me everything. Never stop telling me things. I’ll never stop listening_.

 

“That should have been our first kiss. Honest, consensual.”

 

“Well if you mean that your way was better than mine, I have to agree, given the outcome,” Louis replies. “But do you regret that I kissed you Sunday?”

 

Harry contemplates his answer, softly running his thumb along the crease of Louis’ elbow, tickling the material of his hoodie against the skin there.

 

“No. Not regret. How could I?” Louis looks at him questioningly, wanting to hear the answer to his rhetorical question. Harry reads his expression. “I couldn’t regret something that led me to, like, understand myself more. I feel like I know myself better now. No wonder other people could never figure me out,” he trails off, apparently deep in thought.

 

Louis merely traces his fingertips under Harry’s elbow in response, watching patiently as he works through whatever he’s contemplating. He memorizes the crease of his slight frown, the exact angle of his eyebrows, and the planes of his face. He watches as his curls dance around his forehead in the evening breeze, teasing his skin with soft caresses. Louis could make a shrine to those curls.

 

Harry tunes back in to their conversation. “It’s like no one really ever knew the real me because I never knew the real me. Not that my sexuality or whatever defines everything about me. It’s just like this huge part of me that was locked away has been opened up. Like a treasure chest or something. You just came and opened it up,” he finishes simply.

 

Just as simple as that. Louis opened Harry’s hidden self.

 

He’s never been more proud of anything in his entire life.

 

“Harry,” Louis begins with continued awe in his voice, on his face – in every square inch of his body, let’s be honest. “Can it be my turn now?”

 

A smile spreads slowly across the younger boy’s features. After a long blink, he’s outright grinning at Louis, ruby lips spread around perfect white teeth. _How?_

 

“Sure,” he says sweetly, and makes a show of settling himself into a patient posture, like a young child listening to a story from their grandfather.

 

Louis chuckles at him, still lightheaded from their kiss. _Their kiss_. _That really happened_ , he keeps reminding himself. “You’re cheeky, aren’t you? But I’m being serious, Haz. I feel like I have to explain myself.”

 

“Fine with me. Just stop apologizing.”

 

“You’re very demanding.”

 

“You’re very sorry.”

 

“I am, actually.”

 

“Well, don’t be.”

 

“Well, okay then.”

 

Harry laughs loudly at their mild banter, more loudly than strictly necessary, but Louis greedily basks in the sound, relishing the bursts of breath fanning across his face. Is that weird? He doesn’t care at all. He clutches tightly onto Harry’s forearm as if he’s afraid he’ll float away otherwise.

 

With a carefree smile and mirth in his own voice, he begins, “I just want you to know why I wasn’t talking to you.” Louis’ face falls and he becomes serious. “I mean, I know you asked me to help you through this and I _know_ I should have. I shouldn’t have just left you. I get that now. But I was so afraid, first of all, that you would be disgusted with me and realize any second that- that I’m gay and that you’re not and – no, wait, just hold on – that you would beat the shit out of me or tell the entire school or _something_. You could have done anything to tear me down. And I wanted so bad to believe that you weren’t the kind of guy who would do that, but I saw that look in your eye after we- after I kissed you. You were scared, Harry. Which made me terrified.

 

“And then, when you came out to my car - which I still can’t believe you did, by the way – you came out there all…I don’t know…adamant and determined and it was like _you_ were helping _me_ , and I just thought, he doesn’t even understand yet. Any second he’ll understand how I took advantage of him. And maybe you don’t feel that way, I don’t know, but I felt that way. Ever since that day in the weight room I’ve- ” Louis breaks off, and swallows hard. _You can do this. Be honest. Be brave_. “I’ve had you on my mind nonstop. You never left my brain. I’d think about how I made you laugh, how you were so nice to me after my audition, how fucking incredible you were in that game. I’d listen to your Spotify constantly, just to get to know you or feel like I was…close to you. And I’d think about kissing you and…well, I’m just going to be honest…a lot more than that. You just happen to be fucking gorgeous.” He steals a glance up from his lap to look at Harry. There is no judgment or revulsion there, only patience and concern.

 

“So, after I kissed you and you asked me to help you, I thought, no way. If I’m the guy who helps you sort out your sexuality, I’ll always have an influence over it. And, not only was I _convinced_ that you were straight – no, _hold on_ , we can talk about that in a minute. I was convinced you were straight, but even if you weren’t, if I, your first boy kiss, would be the one to help you figure all that stuff out, I don’t know, it would be like I was molding you into the…lover? …that I want you to be. And that would just be wrong, Harry. You have to live your sexuality on your own terms. You’re only 16. I’m really scared of taking advantage of you by forming you into my own little fantasy of what I want in a boy. But I guess I should have realized you’re a lot tougher than that. That you wouldn’t lose the rest of yourself. And I was also completely egotistical to assume I could have that much influence over you.”

 

Harry interjects, “Can I, like, give my – what do they call that? – now?”

 

Louis laughs in spite of the gravity of the conversation. “We’re not in a courtroom, ya know.”

 

“Yeah! That thing. Where one lawyer talks and then the other one gets to say why he’s wrong.”

 

“Rebuttal?”

 

“Yes! Rebuttal. I’m doing that now.”

 

 _He is so mother fucking adorable I’m going to die_ , Louis thinks.

 

“Go for it, babe.” _Whoops_. _That kind of slipped out_. Luckily, Harry isn’t fazed by the endearment at all. It falls across his ears as if Louis calls him that all the time. As if he always has.

 

“Okay, Louis, first off, I know I’m a jock or whatever, but I don’t beat people up. Obviously I know you know that. But jeez, Lou, you’re a senior and you’re 18 and, I don’t know, even if I would have wanted to, I would’ve been afraid to. So, yeah, not a violent person.

 

“Second, I never woulda told anyone about what happened. That’s just _mean_. Just, no, that would be wrong. I like to think I’m not a mean person.

 

“Third- What did you say after that… Gimme a second. Oh, yeah! Ahhh. Okay, so. I, um, I haven’t really gotten you off my mind either. Like, I go into the weight room, I see you about to crush yourself, I help you, and you look up at me like, hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, male model. Even though I thought I was straight, it’s not like I wasn’t going to _notice_ that you’re, like, Zac Efron-level hot. But I never exactly realized that until later. Don’t interrupt, this is my rebuttal! So, yeah, I think about you all the time, too. I think about that kiss. And about watching you sing. I didn’t just overhear you; I actually stood and watched you, and you just…blew me away. You _know_ how I am about music… You sort of fascinate me, I guess.

 

“Anyway, what number are we on now? Four? Fourth. Yeah, so I’m pretty sure I’m gay.” Louis is beyond guessing what planet this boy comes from, because who the fuck comes out just like that: ‘Yup, pretty sure I’m gay.’ The older boy remains in awe. “That took a while to figure out. I always thought I never liked doing stuff with girls because I wasn’t in love with them, ya know? Which is probably part of it, too. I dunno, I’m a pretty romantic guy, deep down. Don’t laugh. Good, you’re not laughing. Anyway, so yeah, I’ve never enjoyed my experiences with girls, which there aren’t that many, to be fair. I’d never thought to consider guys. I’m around half naked guys all the time, but I never really thought about them like that… Maybe because they’re disgusting. And assholes. But then, after you kissed me and you pulled away, I was, like, weirdly pissed off. Not at you for doing it, which I’m sure is what you thought. I was, like, why’d he stop? I think on some subconscious level I asked you to come to the gym with me Sunday kind of hoping something like that would happen.

 

“And, for the last thing. I actually totally understand what you mean by not wanting to influence me. I can see how that could be, I dunno, complicated. I think you were right to worry about molding me or whatever because even though I don’t really do the peer pressure thing, I would probably be whoever you asked me to be just because you’re _Louis_.

 

“But I didn’t want you to help me as one gay guy to a confused gay guy. I wanted you to help me as my friend. That’s why I was…hurt by you not talking to me. Regardless of what happened, I needed you as a friend.

 

“I’m done now,” he finishes on with a small smile.

 

Louis’ guilt returns in full force. How is the sophomore so much wiser than him? How does he make things so obvious? He left Harry on his own when he needed him most, and from what he’s said, Harry doesn’t have friends he can turn to. Louis is so _honored_ that the younger boy selected him, out of all his companions, to be that close confidant – that he trusts him so implicitly already. Louis violated that trust.

 

“Let me apologize one more time, Harry. No, please, c’mon. I’m serious.”

 

He nods, allowing Louis to continue. Before he does, the older boy reaches out tentatively to grasp Harry’s hand. Where he gets this confidence from, he doesn’t know. Actually, he does. During that earthshattering, monumental, brain-melting kiss, he must have siphoned it from Harry’s lips. The younger boy looks into his eyes shyly, unsure. Louis is enchanted.

 

“I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you as a friend. I still can’t wrap my head around our friendship, because you’re just, like, so open to me and it’s so fucking cool that you trust me like that. You’re goofy as fuck, and I can’t get enough of it. And you’re just so bold, like, that day you walked over after practice, just to talk to me and my friends. I dunno, that meant a lot to me. So, you’ve proven to me that you frankly give a shit about me as a friend. And I didn’t do the same for you. I’m really sorry for that, Harry. More than I can say, actually. But please believe me when I say that I _want_ to be that kind of friend to you. Me not talking to you had nothing to do with _you_. That was just me being a pussy. You’ve shown me how much of a coward I was.”

 

“So, we’re friends for sure?”

 

“Absolutely, Haz. No question.”

 

“Just friends?”

 

 _Be fucking brave, Louis, come on_. He clears his throat, and just begins to notice how fucking cold he is sitting on this concrete basketball court in November at night. And when he looks closely, he can see Harry’s lips turning purple. Maybe he can kill two birds with one stone.

 

“Do you kiss your just friends?”

 

 _The look on Harry’s face_. If he’s not mistaken, it’s a mixture of surprise, unprecedented shyness, and…lust?

 

“No,” the younger boy mutters. “I don’t. Do that.”

 

“Then,” Louis continues in a seductive tone that doesn’t even sound like himself, “what do you think that makes us?”

 

“Um. Uh, not…just friends?” Harry is so flustered under Louis’ steady gaze. His ocean blue eyes hold the deep green ones in front of his, which blink rapidly. Harry’s eyes have gone a little unfocused, actually. He licks his lips, and the younger boy mirrors him.

 

“No. We’re not just friends. Because you’re fucking amazing. I want to show you every day how incredible you are to me. Would that be okay?”

 

“Yes, Lou,” Harry breathes.

 

“Can I kiss you again? I’m cold.” He doesn’t know why the two thoughts are related exactly, but Harry seems to understand.

 

“Yes, please,” the younger boy breathes. He can be so compliant. Louis doesn’t think it’s a kink, but it certainly turns him on. Then again, just about everything Harry does turns him on.

 

“Come closer to me.”

 

Harry dutifully scoots closer to the older boy, who scans their surroundings to make sure they are alone. He kind of completely forgot that they’re in public, in a city park, on a Friday night. Why they’re the only ones here, he doesn’t understand, but he’ll have to thank God for that later.

 

Louis’ right shoulder and Harry’s left one lean against the wire fencing behind the basket. Louis draws Harry’s left arm around his waist, and cups his right hand over the younger boy’s shoulder. His left hand grasps Harry’s right tricep, and Harry clutches onto Louis’ bicep in return. Their legs are bent to the side, knees stacked on top of each other’s to allow them to get closer.

 

Harry seems nervous about what to do with his arm around Louis’ waist. His fingertips press gently, unsurely into the fabric of Louis’ hoodie. The older boy just grasps onto Harry more resolutely.

 

“So, you’re a romantic guy?”

 

“Pretty mushy, actually, yeah.”

 

“Well, me too, babe.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. And I want you to know, Harry, that you are the most intriguing, original, surprising, refreshing person I’ve ever met. I’m going to message you any chance I get. I’m going to listen to your music any chance I get. And this- I’m going to do this to you any chance I get.”

 

With that, he presses his lips once more to Harry’s. Their mouths are cold and a little numb, but Louis’ whole mission is to remedy that. He drags Harry’s torso closer to his own, and the younger boy hums a little in appreciation. His fingers dig earnestly into Louis’ back. Louis slides his left hand up to cup Harry’s neck, pressing his fingertips into the boy’s soft curls.

 

How many times has he dreamt of doing that? How many times has he imagined this moment? He suckles Harry’s plump lower lip between his own, drawing warm blood beneath the delicate surface, eliciting a soft groan. Harry holds onto him for dear life, and Louis gets dizzy off the power of what he’s doing to Harry. He ignores the rush of blood to his dick. He wants Harry, but right now he just needs to worship him with his kisses.

 

Louis traces his tongue over the younger boy’s lower lip just as Harry did to his before, and he parts his mouth in response, letting Louis tease his tongue with his own. The older boy licks around Harry’s mouth, his nerves positively alight with desire. Their lips continue to move, push, pull, contort and slide, sensitive skin against sensitive skin. _Harry is such a good kisser_ , Louis marvels. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever be able to stop.

 

The chilled surface of Harry’s cheek has since heated under Louis’ touch, so he cups his other cheek to bring him more warmth. Their noses are icy cold brushing against each other. Louis worries that the younger boy might catch a cold, but Harry kisses him with building eagerness, and he struggles to stop him.

 

But stop him, he does, because Louis suddenly remembers that he has a car. With a heater.

 

“Haz, sweetheart, do you want to go to my car?” he mumbles against the corner of Harry’s bright red lips, before fully returning his mouth to his, deepening their kiss. The younger boy is unable to answer for a few moments. His fingertips press adamantly into Louis’ back, as if to anchor him there.

 

“Uh. Um, Louis, I’m not- ” Harry mumbles eventually. Louis senses his trepidation, and it dawns on him how his suggestion could be misconstrued.

 

“No, no, no. Not what I meant. It’d just be warm in there. We could get food?” His stomach growls at the thought. He didn’t realize how much he’s starving until now. To be fair, there were more pressing matters on his mind.

 

Harry pulls his face away from Louis’, still clutching onto him, and closes his eyes for a moment. As if he’s committing what just happened to his memory forever. As if he’s clearing his thoughts. _Yeah,_ Louis thinks, _I’m in the same boat, beautiful_.

 

When Harry reopens his eyes, they are dancing with euphoria.

 

“All right, let’s eat. Plus, I’ve got something I want to show you.”


End file.
